Shatter
by and she knew love
Summary: When Brennan finally breaks apart, Booth realizes that when you're in love with two women at once, someone always ends up hurt. Season 6, B&B.
1. The Call in the Night

**Spawned from my frustration about blind Booth and hurt Brennan. My attempt to fix some things. **

**Oh, and I've been so bad about replying to reviews lately. I sincerely apologize and promise you that every single review is read and appreciated. Thank you. I will do my best to start replying to them again. **

**Disclaimer: Three guesses as to who owns Bones. And no, I'm not one of the choices. **

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**The Call in the Night**

Booth lays panting and laughing in bed with Hannah, feeling deliciously satisfied and deeply content. He hugs the gorgeous woman in his bed tightly for a long moment before she pushes him away, laughing.

"I can't breathe," she gasps, pushing at him. "You're squishing me."

He laughs evilly and squeezes her harder, loving the way she squirms in his arms. She hits him again, harder this time, and he lets her go, laughing.

"You're an ass," she accuses, but she's smiling.

"Yeah, I am," he agrees, kissing her quickly on the lips. "But I can be charming when I want to."

She rolls her eyes. "Which is almost _never_."

Raising an eyebrow, he smiles suggestively at her. "I have to have some incentive to be charming."

"Incentive?" she repeats slowly. Locking eyes with him, she leans forward and presses a hot kiss on him, making him groan against her lips. After a brief moment—too brief—she pulls back, her eyes wide and innocent. "Incentive like that?"

"Exactly like that," he growls, reaching for her.

And his phone rings. With a groan, he pulls back slightly, debating whether to get the phone or to just forget about it. After a moment, he decides on the latter and smiles, leaning forward again, but his phone rings a second time before he can get any further with Hannah. Damn it.

She laughs and pushes him gently away. "Whoever it is really wants you."

He groans as he rolls off of her to the bedside table where he keeps his phone. "It must be the FBI," he says apologetically, reaching for the phone. "Sorry."

She shrugs. "No problem. You've got to go do your white-knight thing. I get it."

With a sigh, he flips the phone open. "Booth."

"Booth! Thank God!"

"Angela?" His irritation at being interrupted vanishes instantly at the complete panic in the artist's voice. "What's wrong?"

"It's Brennan. God, I…She's just…Oh my God, oh my God…"

"Angela!" he says sharply. "Calm down." He tries to corral his own panic as he reaches hurriedly for his pants. Damn it, where the hell are his clothes? He rockets off the bed, ignoring Hannah's questioning look as he grabs his clothes up from the floor. "What happened?"

"Okay, I'm calming down. Hang on. Uh, okay. Breathe. Breathe."

"What happened?" he demands, shoving on his pants. "What the hell happened, Angela? Is Bones okay? Did something happen to her?" God, she's okay, isn't she? He'd just seen her a few hours ago at the Jeffersonian, and she'd looked fine. He tries to recall how she'd looked. A bit pale, maybe a little tired, but he'd figured she was just overworked from their latest case. God, she wasn't sick, was she? He can't have missed that. He would've seen something was wrong with her. He would've _noticed. _

"She's…" Angela sounds like her house is burning down around her ears. Booth grabs his gun and badge from the bedside table and races out of his apartment, the phone jammed to his ear.

"She's what?" he demands impatiently, his heart hammering in his chest. "Is she hurt?"

"No. Yes. I—I mean, a little."

"Which is it?" he snaps, fear spurring him on and making his tone harsh. He yanks open the SUV doors and leaps inside, screeching out of the parking lot. He blazes past a police cruiser, which starts after him almost instantly, but he flicks on his own sirens to ward them off. He pulls a dangerous left turn and waits tensely as he hears Angela take a deep, steadying breath.

"She's okay. I mean, she's a little bruised, but she's standing up, which I guess is a good sign. Okay, hang on…She's saying she's fine."

"Jesus," he says, his mind automatically leaping to every scenario possible. Bones has been shot. She's been mugged. She's been…Good Lord, _raped._ Even the thought of such a thing happening to Bones makes bile burn the back of his throat and his fists clench hard on the steering wheel. If _anyone's_ dared to do that to his Bones…

"Booth," Angela says anxiously, "where are you? I think—I think you should come down here. There're police—"

_Police? _Jesus. What the _hell_ happened?

"Where are you?" he asks tightly.

"Golden Palace. It's a—"

"Bar downtown. Yeah, I know where it is."

Angela breathes an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you, Booth. You have no idea how much…Anyway, how long will you be?"

"Five minutes," he replies. He figures if he blasts his sirens the whole way, he can make it.

"Good. Because I think they're…God, Booth, they're arresting her!"

He nearly causes a ten-car pileup in shock. "_What?"_

"I thought they were just going to question her or something! Booth, they have their handcuffs out, and they're arresting her! Oh my God!"

He races through the next to red lights, barely noticing the screech of tires and honks from behind him. They're _arresting_ Bones? What the hell for? The _idiots._ Can't they tell that Bones is the _last_ person who'd knowingly break the law?

He screeches into the parking lot of the bar minutes later. By some miracle, the squad cars are still there. At least they haven't taken her away yet, as far as he can tell. He snaps his phone shut and bolts from his SUV, wondering what on earth is going on.

The scene is subdued in the dim-lit bar. There's a small crowd, but from the looks of it, many of the bar-goers fled the instant police showed up. Officers have their notepads out and are interviewing people off to the side. Booth ducks around them hurriedly and takes in the rest of the area.

It looks like a scene right out of a movie. The evidence of a bar fight is all over the place: overturned chairs, broken glass, spilled drinks. Booth steps gingerly around a couple of shattered mugs on the ground and wonders what the hell happened to the place and how on earth Bones is involved.

His phone rings, and he yanks it out. "Angela?"

"It's Hannah."

Oh. Of course. "Sorry about running out like that," he says, eyes still scanning the bar for familiar faces. "It's just—Bones is in trouble, and I have to help her."

He can almost picture Hannah nodding understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Of course. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"I will," he promises, even though he doesn't think there's much to be done at this point. He doesn't even know what the problem is, let alone how to solve it. Snapping the phone shut again, he walks past a few lingering partiers and finally spots Bones and Angela standing near the wall. They both look fine, thank God, and he hurries toward them, his expression anxious.

When he's almost to them, a uniformed officer throws up a hand to bar his way. "I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to keep back."

"FBI," he says impatiently, his eyes on Bones as he yanks out his badge.

The man doesn't move, his expression confused. "The FBI has no jurisdiction over local—"

His patience, already short to start with, wears thin. "They're both my friends," he snaps, jerking his head toward Angela and Bones, "so that _makes_ it my jurisdiction. Get out of the way."

The officer hesitates, so Booth just shoves past him, closing the distance between him and Bones in three quick strides.

"No handcuffs," Angela is saying, her voice fierce as she faces off the officer in front of her who has a shiny pair of handcuffs in his hand. "Can't you see her wrist is hurt?"

The man tries to push past her, but Angela's much stronger than she looks. She shoves back at him and stands in front of Bones, her expression hard.

"Ma'am," the officer says in a tightly controlled voice, "I'm going to ask you to step out of the way. If you don't, I'll have to arrest you for obstruction."

"Arrest me then," Angela says brashly, her hands on her hips, "because you aren't touching her. And any moment now, our FBI friend is going to show up, and he's going to straighten all this out, so you'd better back off until he gets here."

"I don't care if your friend is a senator," the officer answers, his patience clearly slipping. "I'm going to arrest you both." He swings up the cuffs, but Booth catches his hand firmly.

"Whoa, you aren't arresting anyone."

The officer turns smartly, his expression angry. "Would you like to be arrested too, sir?"

Booth doesn't release his grip. Instead, he grabs his badge and raises his eyebrows challengingly. "FBI, buddy. Mind telling me what this is about?"

"Thank God!" Angela exclaims, relief suffusing her face. Her hostile expression eases instantly as she catches sight of him, and she turns toward Bones. "Look, Bren, it's Booth. Phew! I thought I was really going to get arrested there for a second."

"You still might, miss," the officer says severely, turning toward her.

"Hey," Booth says, waving to regain his attention, "before we talk about arresting anyone, mind telling me what happened?"

"Yeah." The man turns and points at Bones accusingly. "She and him—" He swivels around again to point across the room at another man, already in handcuffs, next to another police officer. "—got into a huge brawl in the bar. Not a little thing either. They're both all battered and not looking too hot. Got tempers, those two."

"Tempers?" Booth repeats, his eyebrows climbing. Sure, Bones has got a temper, but he's only seen her unleash it once or twice in all the years they've known each other. Usually she keeps it in pretty good check, behind the walls of logic she builds up. He wonders what the hell riled her up enough to have her dealing out punches in the middle of a bar.

The man nods solemnly. "They were still fighting when we got here. Had to drag 'em away from each other. We're going to have to take them in to the station for questioning and possible charges."

Well, _that_ doesn't sound like Bones at all. Booth shakes his head and holds up a hand. "Hang on a second. I know that my partner doesn't punch someone for no reason, so the guy must've had it coming for him. Either that or there's some sort of mix-up here. What happened exactly?"

The officer shrugs. "All I know is what the witnesses have told me. The man was with his girlfriend, they exchanged some heated words, then this young lady—" He gestures to Bones. "—stepped in and exchanged a few words, which turned into blows. That's all I know."

Booth sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Making an effort to soften the sharpness in his tone, he says, "Officer, do you mind giving us a couple of minutes?"

The man hesitates for a second before shrugging. "Sure. Just keep in sight."

"Of course." Booth waits until the officer steps out of earshot before coming toward Angela and Bones, his expression worried. "Angela, what happened, really?"

The artist shakes her head. "I really have no idea. One moment I was getting our drinks at the bar, and the next, Bren's punching the living daylights out of the guy. Then someone called the police and…" She shrugs helplessly.

Well, that doesn't help much. Rubbing Angela's arm comfortingly, he moves toward Bones, a question on his lips as he reaches for her.

"Don't," she says sharply, recoiling away from him.

He's so surprised by her reaction that he freezes on the spot. Staring at her, he asks in confusion, "Don't? Don't what, Bones?"

"You shouldn't be here," she says, her voice rough. It has none of the collected, calm edge it normally does. She sounds suspiciously close to emotional.

"What do you mean?" he asks, still not moving.

She takes a deep breath. "I don't want you here, Booth. Go home."

He feels like she's slapped him in the face. She doesn't _want_ him here? What does _that_ mean?

"Bones?" he asks slowly, at a loss on what to say. When she doesn't answer, he sends a searching glance at Angela, wordlessly asking for help.

She moves forward obligingly, taking Bones's arm. "Bren? What do you mean you don't want him here? It's Booth."

"I know who it is," Bones retorts, her voice angry. "My slight concussion hasn't affected my memory in any way."

"Slight concussion?" Booth echoes sharply. Ignoring the way Bones steps away from him, he moves toward her, catching her arm before she can run. Jaw clenched, he tilts her head toward the light and catches sight of the gash on her forehead, purpled with bruising.

After a moment of reining in his anger, he asks tightly, "Are you hurt anywhere else?" He remembers what Angela said earlier and reaches for her hand. "Angela said something about your wrist—"

"I'm _fine_," she says stiffly, pushing him away with her left hand while hiding the other behind her back.

He's stronger than her, so, as he does every so often, he uses this against her. Grabbing her uninjured hand, he twists her around so that he can get a hold of her other one. He handles it as gently as he can, but still she winces as he touches her. It's already swelling, and he probes it gently. It's broken, or, at the very least, sprained.

"I'm fine," she says, trying to pull away from him. "It's not bad, just a simple fracture, probably of the scaphoid or radius. A simple cast is all I need."

She winces when he keeps his hold on her as she tries to pull away, and a quiet whimper escapes her lips. He's so startled and alarmed at the sound that he releases her instantly.

"Sorry," he says quickly, throwing up his hands. "Jeez, you okay? Did I hurt you?"

She shakes her head quickly, her expression unreadable again. "I'm fine, Booth. Please leave me alone."

"Bren," Angela hisses, casting a glance from Booth back to Bones. "If Booth isn't here, you'll get arrested."

"I don't care." She keeps her eyes stubbornly averted from his so he can't tell what she's thinking. He tries to duck his head to catch her eyes, but she turns her head away quickly.

Someone touches his shoulder, and he finds the officer standing close behind him. "Sir, I'm going to have to take her in now. So if you'd just let me…" He holds up the handcuffs and moves for Bones.

"Her wrist!" Angela exclaims in exasperation, and Booth snatches the handcuffs from the officer quickly.

"She's hurt her wrist," he says, holding the handcuffs out of reach. "So forget the cuffs. I promise you she won't run."

"Well…" The man doesn't look convinced.

Booth looks at him and raises his badge again. "From one officer of the law to another, I swear she isn't looking for another way to get out of this. And I'd consider it a favor if you'd let me drive her down to the station."

"I can't really—"

"Interagency cooperation," he says quickly. "Isn't that what they're all touting these days? I won't take her anywhere, I'll just drive her straight to the station. You can even follow us, or lead us. I don't care. Just let me take her."

"No."

He's taken aback to hear the protest because it comes from behind him, from Bones, and not from the officer. Surprised, he turns toward her incredulously. "What do you mean _no_, Bones?"

She looks at him for the first time that night, and her eyes are burning. Her gaze is so hostile that he steps back involuntarily, set back on his heels. Only once in their entire partnership has he seen this sort of anger from her, and that was after she'd thought he'd died. What the _hell_ is it about this time? He doesn't think he's done anything in the past week—the past _month_ even—to earn this sort of fury.

Has he?

"No," she repeats, her voice impassive. Gone is the emotion from earlier. She's stonewalled again, strictly logical. "I'll ride with you, Officer. There's no need for you to worry about me, Booth."

No need? No _need?_

"Of course there's need!" he exclaims. "I'm your _partner_, Bones! And you're being _arrested!"_

She looks at him with that chilling gaze again and says coolly, "Go home to Hannah, Booth. I can take care of myself." And just for a moment there, he can hear an undercurrent of emotion in her voice, anger and something else. Something deeper. Raw. _Hurt._

And then she's gone. The officer's taken her arm and lead her away, out of the bar, leaving him standing in bewildered silence. Angela gives him an indecipherable look before running to catch up with Bones and the officer, her expression worried. He still stands there in the middle of crushed glass, trying to make sense of things.

She's hurt. She's _hurt._ Not in the physical sense, though she's plenty hurt there too, but she's hurt inside, in places he can't see. And he can't fathom what's she hurting about, except that he's the cause of it.

He needs to find out what's wrong.

Unfreezing, he tucks his badge away before hurrying out of the bar and back to the SUV. He pulls out of the parking lot and runs the siren as he follows on the tail of the police cruiser, his shoulders tense and his thoughts jumbled.

What the hell's wrong with Bones?


	2. The Scientist in the Station

**Thank you so much for all the response on the last chapter. Glad you guys are interested in this. If you favorited or put this story on story alert, I would dearly love to know why, so drop a review too. It takes two minutes. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. **

**Disclaimer: Bones is, surprisingly enough, not mine. **

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**The Scientist in the Station**

The police cruiser pulls into the hospital, and Booth grits his teeth he remembers Bones's injuries. He yanks the steering wheel and jerks to a halt beside the squad car, throwing open the door as the officer crosses over to open the back door.

"I got it," Booth says, stepping in front of the officer. He reaches in and helps Bones out, careful to avoid jostling her right hand. He can't help but shiver at the touch, at how warm she is. He realizes suddenly how long it's been since he even brushed by Bones, let alone touched her purposefully. He can't remember the last time he set his hand on the small of her back, something he always used to do. He can't even remember the last time he locked eyes with her.

He feels her shiver almost imperceptibly under his hand and wonders what that means. Does it mean she's disgusted at his touch? That she's just as affected by his touch as he is by hers? Or is she just tired? He shakes his head and decides on the last one. Knowing Bones, she's probably just exhausted from working herself to death. He wonders when she last slept and ate and realizes that it's been a long time since he's asked after her wellbeing. Too long. A flush of guilt ripples through him, and his grip tightens around her hand.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

"I'm fine," she huffs, pulling her hand away from his. "It's just a minor concussion. Head wounds tend to bleed profusely, so the amount of blood isn't indicative of a serious wound. And my wrist will be fine."

Oh, Bones. Always so clinical, even about herself. He eyes the dried blood on her face and the way she cradles her right hand, and clenches his fist.

"What happened, Bones?" he asks. "Did the guy hit on you? Did he touch you?" _Tell me he didn't touch you._

She shakes her head. "He didn't touch me first. I hit him."

He pauses for a split second in surprise before asking, "_Why?"_

Bones turns and starts for the hospital doors, the officer and Booth on her heels. Her expression is unreadable again, and he gives up trying to figure her out. They get inside, the police officer flashes his badge, and the receptionist points them to the waiting rooms. They continue on in silence.

"Why?" Bones repeats finally, her eyes on the ground, on the doors in front of her, anywhere but his. "I don't know why, Booth."

She doesn't know? Doctor Temperance Brennan _doesn't know?_

"There must be a logical explanation," he says, brow furrowing. "Why'd you hit the guy?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know."

She sounds like she's trying to convince him. She sounds like she's trying so hard to convince him that he sees the truth: she's trying to convince herself too.

About _what?_

"You'd better make up your mind about that," the police officer says sternly, his eyebrow raised, "because we're going to take a statement to see how charges will be brought up."

_Charges?_ Booth automatically wants to protest, to demand that any threat of charges be dropped immediately because there's no _way_ Bones is guilty of criminal activity, no _way _Doctor Temperance Brennan did something without a reason. But Bones's _I don't know_ makes him falter, makes him wonder what really happened. Who's to blame?

A doctor comes out and leads Bones back into the examination rooms. Booth automatically moves to join them, but Bones waves him away. He stops in the hallway, surprised and confused as Bones deliberately shuts the door in his face. He thinks for a split second that it's all a practical joke, that she's going to open the door again any moment now and laugh, that she'll tell him it's all a prank. Or maybe it's a dream. But the door stays shut, and he doesn't wake up. So he follows the officer slowly back to the waiting room, his brow furrowed, more worried than angry at the moment.

He finds Angela pacing in the almost-empty waiting room, her expression anxious. When she spots him, she sighs in relief.

"Got stuck in traffic," she says, clearing her throat. "How's Bren?"

He shrugs slowly. "I don't know. She didn't let me in there with her."

Angela looks at him in surprise. "What?"

"Just what I said." He shakes his head helplessly and says, "I don't know what's going on with her. She seemed fine when I saw her at the Jeffersonian a few hours back."

"She seemed fine when I took her for drinks too," Angela muses, her arms crossed. "We danced a little, had a beer, and the next thing I know, she and this other guy are going at each other's throats. It was vicious."

Booth clenches his jaw. "She's hurt. What happened, really?"

Angela sighs. "I can't tell what happened at first, but by the time they really got into it, everyone was crowded around them watching. It got pretty bad, Booth. It wasn't Bren trying to put down some guy trying to make a move on her. It was like she was really trying to kill him." She shudders, her expression troubled. "It was scary. I've never seen her that way before."

His fist clenches again, hard enough to make his fingers pop. What the _hell_ has that guy done to rile Bones up like that? It must have been a hell of a lot, to make her lose complete control and scare even her best friend. He decides to pull some rank and get his hands on this guy as soon as possible so he can wring some answers out of him.

With a sigh, he pulls out his phone and dials Hannah. When she picks up, his shoulders relax ever-so-slightly, and he says, "Hey, Hannah."

"Hey. What's up?" She sounds sleepy.

"Sorry for waking you," he says apologetically, "but I probably won't be back for a while. There's a whole mess going on here, and I can't get away."

She sounds resigned but understanding. "Yeah, Seeley, sure. Do your job. Say hi to everyone for me, will you?"

He smiles tiredly and looks over at Angela. "Hannah says hi."

Angela smiles back. "Hi, Hannah."

"Angela says hi," he says. "So I'll call you back later, okay? I'll get this cleared up as soon as possible."

"No, take your time," she murmurs, her voice muffled like she's burying her head into a pillow. He smiles slightly as he imagines her slumped in bed, her eyes half-closed with sleep.

"Love you," he says. It comes easily with her, these _I love you_'s. Easily in a way it never was with Bones.

"Love you too," she answers. "See you."

"See you." He shuts the phone and slips it back into his pants pocket with a sigh.

"You think it's because she's lonely?" Angela asks quietly after a moment.

He turns to her. "Huh?"

"You think she's acting this way because she's lonely?" she repeats. "I mean, we don't spend as much time with her as we used to. I've got Hodgins and the baby…" Guilt flashes across her expression, and she looks at him in sudden shame. "God, Booth, I've been such a bad friend lately. Tonight was probably the first time I've seen her outside the Jeffersonian in a month. I haven't been paying much attention to her recently…God, now I feel really bad."

Her words make him think, _really_ think. Shame tingles down his spine as well when he thinks about the last few weeks and about how little a role Bones has played in his life since he returned from Afghanistan. How little a role _he's_ played in _hers._ He remembers before their separation when he and Bones used to go out all the time, when he dropped by her apartment at all odd hours of the night with takeout and she'd let him in anytime. He tries to remember the last time he asked Bones to go out with him and can't.

Damn it. He'd thought he'd been doing such a great job of pleasing everyone when all he's really been doing is pleasing himself. Of _course_ Bones is lonely. How could he have not seen it before? He's so damn _blind_.

Angela hears him sigh and looks at him questioningly.

"I haven't been much better," he says heavily. "God, I'm an idiot." An idiot for not seeing this earlier. An idiot for shutting out his best friend.

Angela sighs too. "We've got to do better, Booth. I don't know what's got her all emotional like this, but we should be there for her. Whatever she needs."

"Whatever she needs," he repeats. A promise. Bones is his friend. He'll do anything for her.

_Within reason,_ he reminds himself quickly. He's got more responsibilities now, namely his girlfriend. He can't go gallivanting off to Bones's side at every call now. He's got Hannah to look after. _I'll do anything for her within reason,_ he promises silently.

Except he realizes that he's done exactly that: he's come running all wild-eyed and panicked the instant someone's even _mentioned _Bones. He can't be doing that anymore, not now that he has Hannah. Not now that he has someone more important in his life.

_The last time,_ he promises himself. This is the last time he'll be leaping in to Bones's rescue and leaving Hannah behind. He's got to be moving forward, and he can't do that if he's practically clinging to the past, to _Bones_. Old Booth would have popped up the instant Bones snapped her fingers; new Booth is going to act on his own will, on his own schedule. With regards to his own feelings.

Just as he sighs, the door to the examination room opens, and he snaps his head up. Bones comes out with her hand in a splint and a bandage across her forehead, half-hidden by her hair. The doctor comes out behind her and shuts the door, files in his hand. Before Bones can say a word, Booth steps past her to the doctor.

"Is she okay?" he asks, sounding more worried than he'd intended. He can never really stay in control of himself when it comes to Bones, and it always shows.

The doctor nods. "Are you her husband?"

He shakes his head, not noticing how Bones flinches behind him. "No, I'm her partner. FBI."

The doctor flips open the files and sighs. "I suppose it would be all right to tell you some specifics. She fractured her scaphoid, and she has a slight concussion from hitting her head. I put in stitches, and it shouldn't leave too much of a scar."

Booth flinches involuntarily at the thought of a scar stretching across Bones's forehead. Even if it's hidden by her hair, he'll know it's there, and he'll worry about her all over again. Not to mention the fact that someone as gorgeous as Bones should never have scars.

_Stop that,_ he thinks, annoyed at the way his thoughts run. Aloud, he says, "But she's okay? No lasting damage?"

The doctor shakes his head. "She's pretty heavily bruised here and there, but a couple of weeks of rest, and she'll be fine. But I want to talk to you about something else."

Booth nods. "Yeah?"

"Ms. Brennan—"

"Doctor," Bones interrupts from behind them, her voice slightly irritated. Booth's lips quirk up in a smile that he tries to hide when the doctor lets out a huff of exasperation.

"Of course. _Doctor_ Brennan has some signs of sleep deprivation. However, she assures me she's getting enough sleep."

_Sleep deprivation?_ He shoots her an anxious glance and _really_ studies her for the first time in what feels like forever. Makeup hides the worst of it, but he can still clearly see the dark rings under her eyes. She looks more tired than he remembers seeing her in a long time, and it sends a pang of guilt through him. Jeez, he's feeling more and more like a bastard as the night goes on.

"It's not sleep deprivation," Bones breaks in. "I assure you, I've been sleeping enough to function."

"Functioning isn't the same thing as being alive," Angela interjects from behind them.

Bones's brow furrows in that adorable way of hers. "Of course it is."

"_Really_ alive," Angela says, frowning. "Bren, how much have you been sleeping? Honestly?"

Bones shrugs but doesn't look any of them in the eye. "Enough."

"Really." Angela crosses her arms skeptically and gives Bones the _stop spewing crap_ look. "So if I check the video camera footage of the Jeffersonian, I won't see you pulling all-nighters?"

Bones flushes, which is all the answer they need. Booth groans and demands, "What happened to _normal_ working hours, Bones? I thought we got over the work-yourself-to-death phase years ago!"

She looks at him for just a moment, her eyes unreadable. Then she looks away again and mutters, "I lose track of the time."

The implication is clear, or at least it is to him: he's the reason for this. And he knows it too. He remembers all the times he had to forcibly drag her from her office at two in the morning, all the times he stopped in to make sure she wasn't killing herself working too hard. He realizes guiltily that it's been a long time since he's done any of that.

"It's okay," Bones insists, shaking her head. "I'm fine."

"If this goes on for much longer," the doctor warns, "she won't be fine. Sleep deprivation, when carried on a long time, can be dangerous."

"It won't carry on for any longer," Booth promises firmly, ignoring how Bones shoots him a rebellious glare. He knows she doesn't like people making decisions for her, but he can't help it. Sometimes she needs someone to take care of her.

The police officer sighs, and Booth turns, remembering suddenly where Bones is headed after this. "So other than that, she's fine?" the officer asks.

The doctor nods. "Rest, and she'll be fine. Make sure she gets enough sleep every night."

_She will, _Booth promises, as much to the doctor as to himself. He needs to start paying more attention to Bones, or as much attention as he can spare. He figures since Hannah works late on Mondays and Thursdays, he can pop in to the Jeffersonian to make sure Bones gets her rest, and on all the other days, he can count on Angela or the other squints to do the job. Their little improvised family won't leave her to take care of herself.

"Let's go then," the officer says, putting a hand on Bones's elbow. Booth shifts forward immediately to take her other elbow, giving the officer a look that says _back off._ Without waiting for the officer's permission, Booth pulls her slightly ahead, making for the doors of the hospital.

"You really aren't taking care of yourself," he says, more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, I am," she retorts. "I'm fine."

He hesitates for a moment before asking lowly, "Is it because you're lonely?"

She stiffens for a split second, so slight a movement he would've missed it if he hadn't been touching her. "No. Of course not. I'm used to being alone."

"Used to it," he says. "Doesn't mean you like it. Are you lonely? You want me to spend more time with you?"

"No," she says vehemently, and for a moment, he sees the Bones he knows again. "You're happy," she says firmly. "I want you to be happy."

He looks at her in confusion. "That isn't what I asked."

She shakes her head. "You're happy with Hannah. You should be spending time with her, not me."

"You don't think I'm happy when I'm with you?" he protests. "I _love_ spending time with you, Bones."

She stops in her tracks, and he stops too, looking back at her questioningly. "Bones?"

"Booth," she says quietly, and she looks him in the eye. He sees that she's very serious and very sincere. "Booth, you have something special with Hannah. You shouldn't risk it for anything or anyone. You should be happy with her whenever you can."

His brow furrows as he considers her, wondering what brought this on. "What do you mean, Bones? I _am_ happy with her. Just because I have a girlfriend doesn't mean I should stop spending time with you."

She sighs and starts walking again. "It'd be better if you did."

He tries to catch her arm and swing her around to find out what the hell she means by that, but they're already at the squad car. She opens the door and gets inside before he can even ask her another question, and the officer slips into the driver's seat. With a sigh, Booth hurries back to his SUV and starts after the police cruiser, Angela's car just behind him.

* * *

"There she is! There's the bitch that hit me!"

The man leaps to his feet, and Booth automatically moves in front of Bones, his own stance just as intimidating and threatening. Brennan tries to stifle the swell of gratitude she feels as she watches Booth glare down the other man, his hand straying almost subconsciously for his gun. She hates being taken care of, she reminds herself. She hates it when men assume that she is weak and helpless simply because of her sex. But she can't deny the thrill that shoots through her at the sight of Booth fiercely and almost instinctively protective. The tingle that shoots through her is not because she's afraid or in need of protection but because it's a sign he cares. He cares enough about her to be protective, to put himself between her and perceived danger.

_It isn't really a sign of caring_, she reminds herself. _Booth would do that for anybody._ And he would. But still, for a moment, she feels special.

Damn it. She's supposed to be getting a handle on these feelings. With some effort, she shuts them away and turns her attention back to the scene.

Another police officer grabs the man's arm and forces him back down into the chair. "All right, all right. We're trying to get the facts straight here, and it won't help your case if you try to attack her again."

"It won't help your face either," she hears Booth mutter darkly under his breath, his fist clenched. But he eases back beside her and stands tensely.

The interrogation room is smaller than the FBI ones, and the two-way mirror is slightly scratched and cracked in one corner. The room is slightly stuffy and dark, presumably to portray the gravity of the situation to suspects and the like. Brennan moves to take a seat on one side of the desk, and the man she fought with in the bar is seated on the other side. Although she knows she can handle herself perfectly well, she feels somewhat reassured to have Booth standing imposingly beside her, obviously ready for anything.

"So," the police officer says tiredly, "I'm Officer Cleary, and this is Officer Yates. You're going to tell us what happened in the bar tonight."

"She hit me, that's what," the man from the bar spits.

"Who is this guy?" Booth demands from beside her.

Yates sighs and flips open a file. "Fred Knowles, local mechanic."

Booth reaches for the file, but Yates slides it away. "You've got no jurisdiction here, Agent. The only reason you're even in here is as a gesture of professional courtesy."

She sees Booth visibly restrain himself from snapping back at the officer. Instead, he just crosses his arms and clenches his jaw, the muscles in his cheek tightening.

"Is that true?" Cleary asks, turning his eyes on her.

She nods. "I hit him first. But—"

"See?" Knowles exclaims from his seat. "That's it, that's the confession, right? Can I go now?"

Cleary sighs. "So you admit that you provoked him, Ms. Brennan?"

"Doctor," she corrects in annoyance. How can they read her file without noticing that detail? "And no, I did not provoke him."

Knowles starts to protest, but Cleary continues over him. "But you hit him?"

She nods. "Yes, I did. I would argue that it was in self-defense, though, or at least defense of another person."

"See?" This time it's Booth, his voice triumphant. He uncrosses his arms and even grins a little. "My partner wouldn't hit someone for no reason."

"That's exactly what she did!" Knowles protests, half-standing before Yates shoves him back into his seat again.

"Tell us your side of the story, then," Cleary suggests.

Knowles shrugs. "I was just talking to my girlfriend—_ex-_girlfriend—and _she_—_" _He jabs a finger at Brennan. "—came over and started getting in my face, and then she hit me."

"Do you know him?" Cleary asks, turning to Brennan.

She shakes her head, and Cleary raises an eyebrow. "So why did you go up to him and hit him?"

"Because of how he was speaking to his girlfriend," she says matter-of-factly. "He was very aggressive and threatening."

"So you hit him?"

"That isn't true!" Knowles interrupts, his voice angry. "Emily was being all clingy and I was telling her I wanted to break it off. And _then_ this woman comes over and starts taking Emily's side, and I got mad."

"And you got aggressive," Brennan corrects.

"No, I didn't—"

Booth clears his throat from beside her, catching all of their attentions. "This is easy to solve," he says. "Just bring the girlfriend in, and she'll clear this up."

"What!" Knowles demands. "She _hates_ me right now! Of course she'll take her side!"

"She won't lie under oath," Cleary says, sweeping the file up as he stands. "Yates, do we have the girlfriend?"

The other officer nods. "She's in the other room. You want me to get her?"

Cleary shakes his head. "I'll go interview her. You stay here and make sure none of them kill each other."

He opens the interrogation room door and disappears, and then there're four of them left. An uncomfortable silence stretches between them as Knowles shoots her murderous glares, and she stares pointedly off at the wall. She tries to suppress a yawn, but can't quite stifle it. She knows Booth is watching her; she can feel his worried gaze boring into the side of her face. Some part of her wishes he'd stop noticing her, wishes for him to move on completely and stop sending her these looks that make her shiver. Most of her revels in his attention, at the fact that he's truly looking at her for the first time in weeks.

She turns her head away further. She should stop worrying him like this. She needs to rely on herself again like she used to, so he can move on. She wants him to be happy, really. She just hadn't expected it to be so hard.

"So, you her boyfriend?" Knowles asks suddenly, a sneer in his voice.

She can't help but flinch at the title, like she had earlier in the hospital. It reminds her of what might have been, if she hadn't been such a coward. If she'd said yes.

"No," Booth says, shifting behind her. "I'm her partner."

Knowles turns a surprised look on her. "You're FBI?"

"She's a forensic anthropologist," Booth replies. She can her the familiar strain of pride there in his voice, the one he always gets when he talks about her as his partner. That, at least, hasn't changed.

Knowles snorts. "What the hell's that?"

"She puts away murderers," Booth says, his voice hard. "Which is going to be a hell of a lot harder when you broke her wrist like that."

Again with that protectiveness. Again with those flutters in her stomach. Irrational, irrational, irrational.

Knowles smirks. "She should've known better than to mess with me."

"I'm wondering how _you _got out without any broken bones," Booth retorts, crossing his arms. "She probably knows enough tricks to kick your ass to Wednesday."

Despite the lack of logic in his statement, she still feels a rush of pride at the way he clearly holds her abilities in high esteem. She's always known he's proud to be her partner, but she can't help but feel accomplished whenever he says it out loud.

Knowles raises his eyebrow and pulls up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a tattoo. "Army, baby. She doesn't know enough tricks to beat a soldier. You should tell her to stop picking fights like that. I've half a mind to show her more of what I've got."

"Soldier, huh," Booth says, clearly unimpressed. He leans forward, hands on the table, looking Knowles straight in the eye. "I'm army myself, Ranger and ex-sniper. I'm not too bad at landing punches either, and I can tell you right now, if you _ever _touch her again, if you ever even _talk_ to her again, I will beat you until you can't breathe. You understand me?"

Knowles laughs, clearly affecting indifference, but Brennan shivers because she knows Booth is dead serious. She shivers because she knows that if Knowles so much as looks at her in a way Booth doesn't like, Knowles will be sent to the hospital without so much as a warning. Booth, when provoked, is dangerous.

Before the tension in the room burgeons any further, the door opens, and Cleary returns. He shuts the door behind him and sighs.

"The girlfriend confirms Doctor Brennan's story. Knowles was aggressive and threatening before Doctor Brennan hit him."

"_What?"_ Knowles demands, shooting to his feet. Brennan notes the way Booth's hand automatically flies to his gun while his other hand reaches for her. She doesn't move though, refusing to be intimidated.

"You can't believe anything my ex says!" Knowles explodes. "She's got it out for me, ever since I broke up with her!"

Cleary shrugs. "We'll check with the other witnesses and see if they corroborate her story. For now, if you post bail, you're free to go as long as you stay in town."

Booth pulls her out of her seat instantly. "Right. Great. Bail posted. Come on, Bones, let's go."

Cleary throws his hand up. "Whoa, whoa. You have to post bail _first_, you know."

Booth shoots her a quick look. "Bones, you'll post the bail, right? There's no problem there."

He gives her that look then, the one that says they're going to have a talk afterwards if he has to handcuff her to a chair. As much as she dreads talking to Booth about what happened, she doesn't look forward to spending the rest of the night in jail. So she nods and says, "Show me where to pay."

Thirty minutes later, they're out of the station. Booth stops in front of the doors and pulls out his phone.

"Told Angela I'd call her when it was over," he explains, noticing her questioning look.

"Oh." In truth, she'd thought he'd been about to call Hannah. But hearing that he's only calling Angela makes her illogically relieved.

Taking her uninjured arm, Booth leads her to his SUV. She tries to pry his fingers away, but he seems to find it necessary to guide her, even though she knows very well what his car looks like. So with a sigh, she lets him pull her along until they reach the SUV, where he opens the door for her and even goes so far as to help her inside and pull the seatbelt out for her. Rolling her eyes, she lets him indulge in his alpha male tendencies and seatbelts herself inside securely before he can do that for her too.

Ending his call with Angela, he climbs into the driver's seat and turns the car on. Slowly, the SUV warms up, and she sits back in the seat, staring out the window to avoid Booth's eyes.

Finally, he clears his throat. "Bones?"

She nods. "Yes?" Still not looking at him. She's afraid of what she'll see if she _does_ look.

For a long moment, he's silent, like he doesn't know what to say. That in itself is odd, since Booth _always_ knows what to say. She sits in silence and waits for him to say something.

"You okay?" he says eventually, uncertainly.

She nods tiredly. "I'm fine, Booth." _I always am. _

"Okay then." To her surprise, he turns off the engine of the car and pulls the keys out, spinning them idly in his hand. Puzzled, she turns to him.

"What are you doing?"

"Bones," he says, catching her eyes. She can't read them, which isn't a surprise, really. She's never been good at reading people.

She nods and says in the same tone, "Booth."

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Bones, I know if I drive you back to your apartment, you'll probably lock the door on me. And if I drive you back to mine, you probably have no problem with locking the door on me there either. So let's just sit here for a second, where I know you'll listen to me."

She's afraid of where this is going. "Yes, Booth?"

He stops spinning his keys, catching them neatly in the palm of his hand. Looking straight at her, he says solemnly, "Bones, we're going to talk about what happened tonight."

Despite herself, she gulps.

* * *

**If you have time, well, what better way to spend it than to review? Tell me what you liked and what you didn't. I'll take any and all feedback. **


	3. The Chink in the Partnership

**Thank you so much for all of the support on this story! You guys are undeniably awesome. **

**This is the way the chapter turned out, and I hope you're satisfied!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Bones, you guys would probably have killed me by now for introducing Hannah to the show. **

* * *

**The Chink in the Partnership**

She frowns at him and, as always, turns to logic when she's flustered. "Your argument is specious. I could easily escape from the car if I wanted to. It would have been better if you started driving first."

His brow furrows. "What? Why?"

She levels a deadpan look at him. "I have too much common sense to leap out of a moving vehicle, Booth."

Slowly, he nods his head. And then, before she can move, he jams his keys in the ignition again, brings the engine to life, and pulls sharply out of the parking lot.

"Okay then," he says when they're on the road going forty miles an hour. "Thanks for the tip. _Now_ talk."

Damn it. She swallows again. "About what?"

Her attempt to stall is weak, too weak. Booth blows right through it with a scoff and says, "Start at the beginning, Bones. Start…well, start with when you got to the bar."

"What if I say I don't want to talk about it?" she counters.

"Then we're going to waste a hell of a lot of gas," he replies calmly, "because I'm not stopping this car until you tell me what happened."

"This is illegal," Brennan accuses, glaring at him with her arms crossed. "Doesn't this qualify as kidnapping?"

He snorts, shifting his hands on the steering wheel. "Hey, you blackmailed me once. _Me_, a federal agent."

True. She still doesn't want to talk to Booth about it, though, so she settles back in her seat with her arms folded across her chest. All right. Booth is stubborn, but so is she. She's sure she can out-wait him any day.

It doesn't take to long to prove her correct. Booth shoots her an irritated look, his hands tightening around the steering wheel and his mouth pressing into a stern line. After another moment, he sighs heavily and his expression softens.

"Is it really that bad?" he asks softly. "Whatever happened—was it really that bad? Is that why you don't want to talk about it?"

_No,_ she thinks, not looking at him. _It's because of how you might react if I told you the truth._ Aloud, she says, "I just don't want to talk about it, Booth."

He sighs again, eyes narrowing. He takes a breath, visibly restraining himself, and says evenly, "Bones…if you really don't want to talk about it, I won't push you."

He won't push her. Of course not. He's so _kind, _so kind she almost can't handle it. She wants to tell him, tell him all of it right there with complete disregard to the consequences. She wants to tell him how she's been feeling all this time and how she's so tired—tired of watching, tired of waiting, tired of not _doing._ But…but as always, her logical side slams down its barriers and stops her from making the possibly very stupid mistake of muddling up the situation further with such insubstantial things as _feelings._

She sighs heavily, part relief, part regret. She's relieved that he isn't going to push her, yes, but she's also regretful about exactly that. If only he'd push her, just a little, she might get this metaphorical weight off her chest. Maybe if she tells him, she'll stop shivering every time he looks at her or touches her.

No. _No._ She can't tell him. He's…he's happy now with Hannah, as happy as she's ever seen him. She can't—_won't_—ruin that for him.

He hears her sigh and shoots her a look. When she doesn't speak, he growls irritably and says, "Okay, screw that. I can't _not_ know what's going on with you, Bones. What on earth's the matter?"

"Nothing," she says automatically.

"Bull," he answers instantly. "Tell me the _truth_, Bones. You're good at that. The facts, I mean. So give me the facts."

She crosses her arms again, tucking her bulky cast under her other arm. "The man in the bar—Knowles—looked like he was about to hit his girlfriend, so I stepped in. It's that simple, Booth. You would have done the same."

He looks at her with an eyebrow raised. "Yeah, well, I don't believe you."

She looks back at him in genuine confusion. "Why? It's the facts."

"Fact one: Angela knows something's up with you too, and she thinks it's because you're lonely."

"I'm not—"

"Fact two: you're lying to me."

"I'm _not—_"

"Bones." He glances from the road to her with a knowing look in his eyes. "I'm an FBI agent. I'm trained to see when people are lying. Give me some credit here."

She clenches her teeth and looks stubbornly out onto the road, away from him. Can't he see she doesn't want to talk? Can't he see that she's just as confused by this muddle of emotions within her as he is?

"Are you mad at me?" he asks suddenly, quietly.

The question startles her enough for her eyes to dart involuntarily to his face. "What?"

"Are you mad at me?" he repeats, clearly troubled. "Earlier in the bar, you said you didn't want me there. And in the hospital, you wouldn't let me in the exam room with you. You've been acting weird all night, and you won't talk to me now. Bones, you used to talk to me about anything and everything in the world, and now you don't. So are you mad at me?"

He doesn't look at her, thankfully, because she thinks her eyes would give her away. Yes, she's angry at him. She's so angry sometimes she can't think logically about things, like in the bar and in the hospital. But anger's only a part of it. She's hurt too, and sad, and a million other emotions she's never felt before. He makes her so confused, and she hates it. She hates _him._ But she doesn't really, and that confuses her that much more.

"No," she says, keeping her voice level with some difficulty.

His brow furrows in confusion. "What? Then what was that at the bar?"

"A momentary lapse in control," she replies matter-of-factly. "I was under the influence of alcohol, and my thought process was impaired."

He snorts. "You're telling me you got drunk on one beer?"

"One?" She shoots him a surprised glance. "Who told you that?"

"Angela, who else?"

Oh, right. Of course. She frowns and says, "Alcohol can have a different effect on different people."

"Right. We've had drinks at the Founding Fathers a thousand times before and I have _never_ seen you drunk, Bones. Not even close."

She hates it when he cuts down her arguments with facts she can't fight against. She hates it even more when logic fails her.

He chuckles humorlessly at her sullen silence. "Have I finally made you speechless? The great Doctor Temperance Brennan?"

"I've been at a loss for words before," she mutters, turning her head to look out the side window. Usually in his company and usually because of what he says. He has that effect on her, an ability no one else seems to have.

After a moment, she realizes they're slowing to a stop, and she looks over at him in surprise. "I thought you weren't going to stop the car until I told you the truth."

He glances at her wryly. "So you _weren't_ telling the truth?"

She flushes, and even in the dim light, she knows he can see it because a wide smile crosses his face.

"See?" he teases. "I don't even have to ask you questions. You just give yourself away."

She flushes harder and stubbornly turns her face away from him, but secretly, she's glad he's teasing her. The mood has lightened, and she gets the feeling that she might get away with most of her secrets intact tonight after all.

She looks up and sees her apartment building looming dark against the night sky. Before he can stop her, she opens the door and slides out of the car, striding for the building the instant her feet hit the ground. She hears him fumble with his seatbelt and slam the car door shut behind him as he hurries after her.

"We aren't done with this conversation," he calls from behind her. "You're going to tell me what happened."

She's never met a man so persistent. Sometimes she wishes he were like all the others who back off when she puts up her walls and withdraws into safety. But he isn't, and that's what makes him special. It still irritates her to no end, though.

"I won't tell you," she says, almost petulantly. She enters her apartment building and starts for the stairs, knowing that she isn't in the mood to be stuck with Booth in the elevator, even for twenty seconds. She hears him coming quickly behind her, his shoes thumping on the steps.

"Yeah, you say that now," he mutters, "but whatever happened in that bar was big, and something that big doesn't stay quiet for long."

He's wrong. She can stay quiet on this forever.

She reaches her apartment and pulls out her key. But as tired as she is and using her left hand, she can't seem to find the keyhole. Frustrated, she bends down to peer at the knob, trying to find the slot, feeling all-too-acutely Booth's gaze on her back.

Warm fingers gently grasp her own, and she flinches, dropping the key. Booth's eyes widen in surprise, and she turns away in embarrassment. _Booth touches you all the time,_ she chides herself. _Stop reacting like this._ But it's been a long time, and she's forgotten—or she never truly appreciated—how Booth's touch affects her.

"You sure you're okay?" he asks as he bends down to pick up the key. Feeling foolish, she steps to the side as he unlocks the door for her and swings it open.

"Yes," she says, her voice steady. "I'm fine."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't press her either. He only says, "It's because you're tired, isn't it?"

She looks at him. "What's because I'm tired?"

He shrugs. "What happened tonight. And just now, too."

His eyes catch hers, dark and knowing, and she understands that he's giving her an escape. She can blame it all on being tired, and he'll stop pressing her. As he always has, he understands her limits. He understands when she doesn't want to be pushed. He just doesn't know _why_—that if he pushes too hard, she'll break completely.

"Yes," she breathes, more grateful than she lets on. "It's because I'm tired."

"Bones," he says softly, his eyes soft and hot at the same time. He hesitates, like he isn't quite sure of what to say or how she'll take it. She waits on the threshold, on one side Booth and bright moonlight, on the other her dark, silent apartment. Eventually, he sighs and says, "Get some sleep, okay? You need it."

She smiles slightly. "I know."

"And…" He looks down at his shoes for a long moment before meeting her eyes again. Before she can react, he pulls her into a tight hug. For a moment, she's too surprised to do more than breathe into his shoulder, eyes wide. And then her scrambled mind jumps automatically to the facts. He's warm, as always, and he smells like pie and things that aren't even smells, like safety and security. Underneath those smells, she can faintly detect some cherry perfume clinging to him, and she shuts her eyes, breathing past Hannah's scent to Booth's pure warmth underneath. His arms are strong around her, his muscles contracting as he pulls her in close, and she remembers the definition of his muscles. He's a remarkably well-formed man, very symmetrically structured with wide shoulders and narrow hips.

"Bones," he asks, his breath stirring past her ear, "what're you thinking?"

She clears her throat and finds her voice. "You have a very fine body."

He chuckles in her ear. "You haven't changed at all."

She can't help but shiver at his proximity. This isn't right. He's with Hannah now. He shouldn't be…hugging her like this. "Booth…"

His arms tighten around her, like he's afraid she'll push him away. "It's okay, Bones. Guy hug, okay?"

She frowns into his shoulder, raising her arms between them. "I'm not in need of any comfort, Booth."

She hears the smile in his voice rather than sees it. "Maybe _I_ need this, Bones, okay? Let's just enjoy it for a moment."

_Enjoy it. _Push all the logic away and take the moment for what it is. For some reason, she feels like she needs this too, so she pulls him closer to her, raising her arms to wrap them around his neck. _Guy hug._ Yes. She pretends his touch doesn't stir up a deep ache in her chest, an ache she can't scientifically explain away. She pretends she's happy that they're friends, she's happy this is a guy hug. She hugs him tight and illogically wants the moment to last forever.

"Bones," he says finally, softly, "I'm sorry."

Confused, she turns to look up at him. She can't see his eyes in the dark, but she can hear the sincerity in his voice. "For what?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever," he says haltingly. "You were mad at me earlier, I know you were. So, whatever it was, I'm sorry. Tell me how to fix it."

_Oh._ She closes her eyes and rests her head against his shoulder again. "Thank you," she says quietly. Not because he's soothed the ache over her heart or fixed everything with those words, but because he's trying. He always tries for her. She feels a rush of emotion for him right then, emotion so powerful she wants to cling tightly to him and never, ever let go. He's so incredibly kind. Too kind. Too good for her.

She decides suddenly that if he can be selfless enough to drop everything in the middle of the night to rush out and help her, she can be selfless enough to let him go. Stop confusing him, stop needing him. Let him be happy.

_Yes. _It's what he deserves. It's the most she can do for him, after all he's ever done for her. _Give him what he needs._

So she walls away her emotions, shuts them away as best she can. Gently, she pushes him away, and he lets her this time. "Thank you," she repeats, managing to keep her voice steady. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He looks at her in confusion. "What? But I didn't do anything. How do I fix it? What did I do?"

She smiles and answers, "Nothing." Because he really hasn't done anything. She's done it all to herself, falling for him like this and then being a coward to the very end. "You didn't do anything. I'm just tired, Booth. I'll see you tomorrow."

Before he can answer, she steps into her apartment and shuts the door, wondering if her heart—that muscle that has no feelings, no thoughts of its own—will ever stop hurting.

* * *

It's still dark when he gets home. The clock in his living room reads four-thirty in the morning, and he stretches with a soft groan, knowing he'll have to be up at seven-thirty sharp to get a head start on the massive pile of case files sitting on his desk. Well, he's functioned on less sleep before. He can handle this.

Stripping off his gun and badge, he sets them on his bedside table and sits down on his side of the bed. He's known for a while now that Hannah is a light sleeper, so he isn't surprised when she stirs and sits up, yawning as she stretches her arms above her head.

"Seeley?"

He flashes her a tired smile in the dark. "You okay if I turn on the lamp?"

He sees her silhouette nod and reaches forward to turn on the light. Hannah winces and squints her eyes, and he smiles apologetically. "Sorry."

She shakes her head with a sigh. "It's okay. Is Doctor Brennan okay?"

He nods, even though he really isn't sure. "Yeah, she's fine." At least physically, she'll be fine. He has no idea what's going on in her head.

"What happened?"

He shrugs. "Some drunk in a bar." He can't go into the specifics because he doesn't know them. He got the feeling that Bones was lying, and he gets the feeling now that she hasn't told him the whole truth about why she hit that guy. There's got to be more to it than that, because he's never seen her fly off the handle like that before for a little thing like an aggressive boyfriend.

Hannah nods slowly, absorbing the information. "Okay. So it's all fine now?"

He nods. "Yeah, it's all fine. Sorry about running out like that."

She shakes her head and lays back down, looking up at him. "She's your partner. You have to take care of her."

"Yeah, I do," he agrees, glad she understands. "But…you're important too. More important. So I'm sorry."

She leans forward with a smile and kisses him. "Thank you. You know I love it when you say things like that."

He smiles tiredly back at her and gently pries her away from him when she leans in for another kiss. "Not right now, okay? I have to get up early." And he's too troubled to be in the mood. Luckily, she nods understandingly and lays back down. He changes quickly and slides under the covers, switching off the light.

The darkness doesn't help anything. He lays there wide awake for a long time, Bones's expression, that look she had, flashing before his mind's eye. He wonders when something changed between them, something so small and slight that he hasn't noticed until too late. Was it when they came back from their year apart? No, he doesn't think so. Everything had been normal when he'd returned, hadn't it? He and Bones had fallen back into their usual, familiar routine like they had never been apart. They were friends before they split, and they're friends now. But somewhere between their reunion and now, a link in their partnership has come loose. He can't decide if it's his fault or hers. Probably both of theirs. He wonders exactly _what_ has come loose and how he's supposed to fix it.

Before he knows it, it's seven in the morning. He hasn't slept a wink, and he probably isn't going to, so with a sigh, he sits up with a yawn.

"Leaving?" Hannah murmurs sleepily from beside him.

"Yeah." He leans over and presses a kiss to her cheek. "See you later, okay? I'll leave some coffee in the kitchen."

Getting up, he showers and dresses quietly, not bothering to tighten his tie as he makes for the kitchen. Tucking his badge and gun into place, he opens the fridge and peers inside. Bagels, leftover pizza, leftover Thai…

Thai. He wonders if Bones even ate dinner last night. Probably not. She's been looking too thin these days, now that he thinks about it. With a sigh, he puts the coffee on and grabs a bagel for himself, making a mental note to stop to buy more bagels on the way to work. He can drop by the Jeffersonian on his way to the Hoover building.

Twenty minutes later, he's on the road in the SUV, tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. He looks over at the empty passenger seat and realizes his car smells faintly of lavender—of Bones. Unable to help himself, he sucks in a deep breath, letting it out in a quiet sigh. He's forgotten how good Bones smells. He's forgotten a lot of things about her.

He swings by the Jeffersonian fifteen minutes later, a bag of bagels in his hand. He greets the security guards and walks into the lab, stifling a yawn.

Bones isn't on the forensic platform, so he makes a wide arc around to reach her office. There she is inside, all bright and early, clicking away with one hand on her keyboard. Her other hand, engulfed in the cast, flips through a packet of papers next to her computer. With a grin, he raps on the doorframe with his knuckles.

"Booth." When she spots him, she smiles, genuine and friendly. Like the night before hadn't happened at all.

He smiles back, wondering if—and how—they've fallen back into their natural partnership again. "Hey, Bones. Brought you breakfast."

As he shakes the bag of bagels, she frowns. "I already ate."

He raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Really. What'd you eat?"

"Yogurt," she answers promptly. Also without meeting his eyes. Liar.

He plops the bag down on her desk. "Well, eat some more. You're looking kind of pale these days." When she doesn't move, he opens up the bag and wafts some of the smell over to her. "Look, bagels. Don't they look good?"

"I can't see them," she says, not moving to look over the lip of the bag. At his exasperated huff, she adds with a sigh, "But they smell good."

He grins. "That's my girl. I got all sorts of flavors. Didn't know what you liked."

She pushes away from her computer and reaches into the bag, picking out her bagel and some cream cheese. He takes out one too and slathers cream cheese all over it, taking a huge bite.

"Mmm, it's good," he says around a mouthful.

She smiles and takes her own bite, smaller and more conservative. He can't help but stare at the way she licks her lips, slowly and innocently without looking at him. Jeez, a few weeks and he's already forgotten the effect she can have on him. She does little things—tiny things, really—that hit him as the most adorable thing he's ever seen, and sometimes he just wants to reach out and crush his lips to hers. God, he's forgotten the lure of her, how good she smells and how good she _tastes._ He's had exactly three kisses with her before, and her taste is one thing he's never forgotten. Right now, he just wants to lean forward over her desk and kiss the life out of her, kiss her until she's breathless and wide-eyed and—

Good _Lord._ He jerks his thoughts away, eyes widening. It's been _months_ since he thought of her like that, and the intensity of his desire shocks him. He has—he has Hannah now. He _can't_ be thinking of his partner that way. He needs to be cool and calm and professional with her. No, he needs to be her friend, but he can't be too much of a friend. There's a line, and he needs to draw it clearly, draw it and fence it and build a damn wall over it. He needs to get himself under control.

"Booth?" Bones watches him curiously, her brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"

He clears his throat and forces a smile. "Yeah. Why?"

She shrugs. "You looked distant there for a moment."

He pretends to be surprised. "I did? It's nothing. I'm just a little out of it today."

"How much sleep did you get?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "I should be asking _you_ that. Did you sleep last night?"

"I slept fine," she says defensively. "I slept very well. Did you?"

"Yeah," he lies. "I slept like a baby."

She swallows the bite she's been chewing, her lips curving into a frown. "I never understood that reference. Babies don't sleep well at all. Newborns wake up an average of three times per night."

"It's just a saying, Bones," he chuckles. "Don't try to logic it apart."

"Logic isn't a verb, Booth."

He rolls his eyes and says, "Just eat your bagel, Bones."

And he realizes at that moment that he and Bones have fallen back into their easy rhythm, one that's been missing for at least a few weeks now. He realizes now that he actually looks at her that Bones is smiling with real warmth, and that her banter is more like it used to be again. They're clicking like the partners they always were, and he's elated. He has no idea what happened the night before and why, but he does know that he and Bones are back to normal. Something's shifted again. He doesn't know what, but he'll take it.

At this point, if he and Bones can be friends, he'll take anything.

* * *

As Brennan chews on her bagel, she wonders why Booth is here. It's been a long time since he came to her office in the morning without a work-related purpose, just to talk and eat breakfast as friends. A warmth spreads through her as he lounges in the chair across from her, making his usual jokes that she doesn't get and trying to figure out exactly how well she slept the night before. It seems almost like it used to be again, before their year apart. Before Hannah.

"Do we have any cases?" she asks, taking her last bite of bagel and brushing the crumbs off of her hands.

He nods. "Actually, yeah. There's this case sitting on my desk, and the coroner can't figure out too much from it. I'll have them ship the body over here."

"Okay." She thinks for a moment and says, "I don't have much work right now, so I'll be able to devote most of my attention to the body."

"Great." He brushes off his hands too and stands. "Well, Bones, I gotta run."

"Run?" she asks in confusion. "Run where?"

He laughs in that way that tells her she's missed the point. "_Go._ I gotta _go._ I have a bunch of paperwork to finish right now."

"Oh." She can't help but feel disappointed. It's the first time in weeks that he's reached out to her, and she'd hoped it would last longer. A glance at her clock on the wall tells her he's only been with her thirty minutes. She remembers the days he spent hours in her office with a pang of longing.

She stands too, forcing a smile. "Thank you for the breakfast."

He shakes his head. "No problem, Bones. I'll see you later, okay?"

She nods. "Okay." Disappointed, but okay. She remembers her decision to let him go and knows it's better this way.

But neither of them moves. Booth hovers in the doorway and looks back at her for a moment, and she meets his gaze steadily. It's _that_ look in his eyes, the one that makes a shiver shoot through her from head to toe, the one that takes her breath away with its intensity. For a long moment, she can't breathe.

Then he offers her a little smile, and her lips automatically quirk up in response.

"Lunch," he says, in that tone that brooks no argument. "No buts. I'll come get you at twelve-thirty. The Royal Diner?"

He's reaching out again, throwing her a lifeline. Despite all that's happened, despite all that's changed, he won't leave her behind.

She knows she's just making it harder on herself. She's supposed to be distancing herself from him so she has time and space to get over her feelings for him. She's supposed to be pushing him away, moving on since he so obviously has too. But at that moment, she doesn't care.

"Okay," she says, smiling at him. "Twelve-thirty." A promise.

"Twelve-thirty," he repeats, a promise in his voice too. A promise to stop ignoring her, a promise to be friends again. A promise to not let Hannah come in between the natural friendship and partnership they'd had.

With one last look at her—a look that makes her shiver again—he leaves her office and disappears around the forensic platform.

Maybe, she thinks as she looks after him, things will turn out all right. Maybe, if things go well, she'll be over him soon enough, and this ache of her heart will be gone forever.

* * *

**I know most of you were waiting for an explosion of feelings here, and I'm sorry, but this is how it worked out. Don't worry; this conversation of theirs isn't over. They've just ignored/put it on hold for the moment, but this thing's far from being resolved.**

**Give me your thoughts!**


	4. The Hindrance in the Helper

**I love you guys. So much that I can't express how much. You guys give me such wonderful motivation to keep writing that it really is incredible. Thank you so much for all the reviews and support. **

**Disclaimer: Bones, strangely enough, still isn't mine. Huh. **

* * *

**The Hindrance in the Helper**

She doesn't need to be psychic to see that something has changed between Seeley and his partner. She sees the change subtly, like in the way he dresses and the way he talks. Since she's known him, he's dressed in more conservative colors—dark ties, black socks. Now, all of a sudden, he wears bright red ties and purple-striped socks in the oddest combinations. She doesn't know what this has to do with his partner, but she knows it has _something _to do with Doctor Temperance Brennan because she caught him in his sock drawer one morning trying to remember which pairs _'Bones'_ likes best, the green ones or the blue ones. And now when he talks, he drifts a little more than usual into topics about his partner.

She knows something's changed. She just can't figure out what.

It can't be her, can it? No, she thinks she's doing the best she can. She's giving him space when he needs it and company when he needs it. She respects the hours he puts into the job, just like he respects the hours she puts into hers. She knows she isn't too bad in bed, and she's been as kind, as understanding, as she knows how to. He tells her all the time he loves her, but somehow, she feels like he's slipping. She's losing him.

Is she?

One night he comes home with a huge—outrageous, really—bouquet of flowers and a cake celebrating their two-month anniversary since returning to D.C. And she decides right then and there that she's definitely over-thinking this, because there's no way a man gets on his knee and sings a love song completely off key for a girl he isn't completely into.

She's definitely not losing him.

Is she?

No, no, no, she isn't. Because Seeley is a man of his word, and he hasn't got a bad bone in his body. If he is even slightly drawn away—if he even _feels _like he's in danger of straying—he'd tell her. Because that's who he is. She's absolutely sure that he's the type of man who's die-hard loyal. Whatever's going on between him and his partner, it isn't sex. She's sure of that.

She's sure.

Why does he call his partner_ Bones_, though? She remembers reading somewhere that nicknames are a product of increased intimacy, and it makes a pang of unease shoot through her. But no, that can't be right because according to…well, _everybody_, Seeley has called his partner _Bones_ since the beginning of time. So it's probably just a partner thing. Nothing to it. They're friends, obviously. How can a man spend time with a woman for six years without becoming her friend? So he and his partner are just doing friendly things. Completely normal.

Right?

Sitting at her desk, she sighs heavily and tries to focus on the paper she's writing, but the words seem to just blink in and out of her vision without sticking in her mind. She has an article due the next day and she's written barely a paragraph of it, but she can't stop thinking about the only thing that really matters to her at the moment—her boyfriend.

She can't be losing him. She's given up everything for him, for the chance to have the fairy tale she's always wanted. She's had boyfriends in the past, of course, but they've always been fleeting. They don't put up with her love of travel and adventure, and she'd started to think that her mother was right, that she'd never have her happily-ever-after in the end. But then Seeley had shown up, and she'd seen it then: the glimpse of happiness, true love. She'd seen in him from the very beginning that he was the type who stayed. The type you make a happily-ever-after with.

_I can't give up on this,_ she thinks stubbornly, staring out the window at the busy street beyond. She has a chance here, and she'll fight for it with everything she's got.

"Hannah. _Hannah._"

She snaps to attention at the familiar voice to find Seeley standing at the edge of her desk, his eyebrows raised.

"Hey," she says, smiling widely. "What are you doing here?"

"You don't remember? Lunch at one." He pretends to be hurt, but his eyes give him away. After a moment, he loses the fight to keep a straight face and breaks out in a grin.

Lunch. Right. "Let me just get my stuff," she says hurriedly, saving her (nonexistent) progress and shoving some of her papers into their correct files. Picking up her coat, she leans over her chair to shut down her computer and turns back to face him. "Okay, let's go."

"Hang on." He smiles mischievously and brings his left hand out from behind his back. In his fingers is a beautiful white flower, obviously wild, with a purity and simplicity that makes her breath catch.

"It's beautiful," she breathes, reaching out to touch it.

He hands it to her, his smile widening. "It's yours. I was walking up to your building and saw it growing next to the sidewalk. Made me think of you."

And she decides right then and there that she's _definitely_ over-thinking this, because there's no way a man does things like that for a woman he isn't completely into.

They take a quick walk to the diner just across from her workplace, Seeley taking her hand in his. "You're cold," he says, rubbing her hand between his.

"Have a lot on my mind," she tells him truthfully.

"Work?" he asks, opening the door to the diner for her.

She shrugs. "And other things."

He smiles. "Busy week, huh? Tell me about it."

She finds a seat at a booth next to the window and waits for him to take off his coat and sit across from her. She figures they'll order their usual, but Seeley looks at the menu a little longer than he usually does, his brow furrowed.

"Can't decide which wine to get?" she teases him wryly. "There isn't exactly a huge selection, Seeley."

He seems to notice her staring at him and clears his throat. "What? No, I was just…uh, nothing."

The waitress comes over before she can ask him what's the matter. They both order the usual, but Seeley says at the end, "How's the pie here?"

The waitress smiles. "Best pie in this part of town. We've got awards too, if you want to see them."

He smiles. "Then give me a piece of apple pie please." He hands the menu back to the waitress before hesitating, obviously torn about something. The waitress takes their menus and starts to walk away. Hannah watches indecision furrow Seeley's face for a long moment before he finally calls after the waitress, "Hey, about that pie? Forget it. Thanks."

No pie? Even though he's never had pie before, he doesn't seem like the type of guy who'd agonize over a dessert. She eyes him curiously. "You counting calories, Seeley?"

He rolls his eyes at her amusement. "No, it's just…yeah, I don't feel like pie right now."

She shrugs, having learned long ago to roll with his quirks. "Okay." Crossing her arms and leaning her elbows on the table, she smiles and says, "Want to hear about the day I've had?"

He nods and smiles back. "Yeah, sure. Can't be much worse than mine, though."

She raises her eyebrows. "Was that a challenge, Seeley Booth?"

He leans forward further, his breath tickling her lips. He looks at her with that intense gaze of his and breathes, "You bet it is, Hannah Burley."

With a quiet chuckle, she lifts her head to meet his lips, her eyes closing. He presses closer to her, his kiss warm and gentle. She's completely over-thinking this, definitely, because there's no way a man kisses a woman like _that _without being completely—

"Booth?"

Seeley pulls away from her quickly, his eyes flying wide. Both of them turn in surprise to find his partner standing just in front of their table, a pile of cases in her arms and a smile spread across her face.

"Bones?" Seeley clears his throat, leaning back in his seat. If Hannah hadn't been watching, she would have never noticed the slight flush that rises to his cheeks. But she _is_ watching, and she _does_ notice. He coughs again and asks, "What are you doing here?"

Doctor Temperance Brennan's smile doesn't waver. "I've been trying to call you for twenty minutes now, Booth. There have been new developments in the case, and I wanted to tell you some of the details."

He glances at his partner, then back at her, clearly reluctant to part with either of them. "Bones…can this wait? Hannah and I are kind of in the middle of something here…"

Temperance's smile still doesn't disappear, but it hardens. Hannah notices it interestedly, wondering what it means.

"Of course," the doctor says after a minute, more brightly than Hannah thinks is necessary. "I'll leave some of the files with you, Booth." She slides the topmost file from her pile and sets it on the table.

Hannah smiles at her and suggests, "Why don't you eat lunch with us, Temperance? You look hassled."

She doesn't notice the way Booth's eyes light up at the idea. "Yeah, Bones," he says eagerly, "join us. Here, I'll scoot over."

Temperance is already shaking her head, her smile rueful. "I wish I could, but I promised Cam I'd be back to the lab as soon as possible. I have remains to identify outside of the case we're working on."

"You can't spare a second? Not even a second?" Seeley asks, flashing her a wide smile, his charm smile. Hannah can't help but smile too at the sight of it; she's always loved the way his entire face brightens, the way his eyes gleam, when he smiles like that.

Temperance shakes his head. "I'd rather not intrude." Both Hannah and Seeley make to protest, but the doctor speaks over them. "I'm actually very busy today. I have a new set of remains being shipped back from Maluku. They've agreed to still involve me in the project even though I'm not on-site. It's quite exciting, actually."

Leaning back in his seat, Seeley smiles. "Hey, that's great, Bones! So you get everything, don't you? Your job at the Jeffersonian catching murderers _and_ involvement in the Mapupi project."

"Maluku," Temperance corrects with a wry smile. "And it's hardly _everything_, Booth. I don't get to be on-site and present at the moment of discovery, which is always gratifying. I also won't be the first to handle the bones found. They send me the discoveries merely for secondary analysis to confirm their findings."

"Better than nothing," he says with a shrug.

She smiles. "Yes. Better than nothing." She stands there a bit awkwardly for a moment before nodding abruptly to both of them. "Well, I'll be going now."

She turns on her heel, and at that moment, a man carrying a steaming cup of coffee slams into her, sending all her case files flying and all the coffee sloshing down the front of her shirt. Hannah's eyes widen in shock as she watches Doctor Brennan stumble back, throwing out her arms as her shoes slip in the puddle of spilled coffee. It's like watching two trains collide; she knows it's going to be a disaster.

Seeley moves so quickly she barely catches his movement. One moment he's sitting across from her, and the next, he's lunging for his partner, grabbing her arm to steady her. But they're both off-balance, and they stumble backwards, Booth trying to pull his partner to safety as she careens backwards. Hannah fights the urge to cover her eyes and instead leaps to her feet, reaching out to both of them.

Somehow, by some lucky stroke, Seeley manages to catch himself with one hand on the table behind Doctor Brennan, his other hand clenching tight around his partner's waist to keep her from hitting her back hard against the edge of the table. They balance like that for a long moment, the entire diner motionless and silent as they all hold their breaths. Hannah just stands and stares, wondering what on earth she's supposed to do other than gape in astonishment.

And then Doctor Brennan unfreezes, pulling the front of her shirt away with a quiet gasp. Seeley straightens immediately, withdrawing his hand almost like he's been burned. But just as quickly, he touches her again, demanding, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Doctor Brennan mutters, but she winces as she shakes the front of her shirt slightly. The coffee, obviously boiling hot, has stained the entire front of her white shirt, probably giving her a painful time of it. Hannah winces in sympathy, moving automatically for napkins.

Seeley growls a curse under his breath and whirls. The man who hit Doctor Brennan stands in shock in the puddle of coffee, his eyes wide.

"Hey," Seeley snaps, his eyes narrowing, "watch where you're going, idiot!"

The man shakes his head. "I'm so sorry. I just…I didn't see her…"

"Be careful," Seeley repeats, his voice harsh. "You're lucky she didn't fall and break something, or I swear, I'd—"

He cuts off when he notices the man staring past his shoulder. Hannah follows the man's gaze and finds, not to her surprise but definitely to her horror, that Doctor Brennan's soaked white shirt is quickly turning see-through. Seeley seems to reach the conclusion in the same instant, and he mutters another curse under his breath, turning to grab his coat from the booth. He tosses it around his partner's shoulders quickly, his expression dark.

"Thank you," Temperance mutters, a flush pinking her cheeks. Hannah moves forward with the napkins, wishing she could do more. Doctor Brennan takes the papers with a small, grateful nod and wipes off her hands and some of her shirt under Booth's jacket.

"I'm so sorry," the man repeats, sounding horrified. He holds his empty coffee cup in his hand uncertainly, obviously wondering whether he should help or just step back. Booth glares at him, obviously wondering if he should restrain himself or just snap out abuses at the poor guy. By the way his eyes harden, he's clearly deciding on the latter.

"My files," Temperance says worriedly, dropping heavily to her knees before either can say anything. She reaches awkwardly for the scattered papers, her cast impeding her way as she tries to pull the papers together.

"Don't," Seeley says, his voice still hard but gentle at the same time. "Don't worry about those, Bones, it's fine."

"It's not!" Doctor Brennan pulls the papers toward her, trying to keep them out of the spreading puddle of coffee. "These are copies of x-rays sent by the Maluku project, and my notes on the case are in here." She snatches a page from the puddle and shakes it out, but the ink's already running, leaving unintelligible smears on the paper.

Not knowing what else to do, Hannah drops to her knees too and gathers together what papers she can. After another moment, Booth and the other man do the same, reaching for the papers flung everywhere. They manage to salvage most of the pages into a thick stack, and when they finish, Doctor Brennan sighs.

"It's not too bad," Seeley reassures her. "Look, we got most of the pages."

"I'll have to reorganize them," his partner says in exasperation, "and it's going to set me behind schedule. Cam wanted a preliminary analysis by three o'clock."

"I'm sorry," the man mutters again, his face red. "I should've looked, I should've seen you…"

"Damn straight," Seeley mutters under his breath, so quietly only Hannah hears it.

With another sigh, Doctor Brennan struggles to her feet, the stack of papers in her arms. Hannah doesn't miss the way Seeley hurriedly grabs her arm and helps her up, his expression worried.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his eyes on Doctor Brennan's. Hannah feels suddenly, illogically, that she's a stranger looking in.

"I'm fine, Booth." The forensic anthropologist brushes off his hands, shaking her head.

Seeley doesn't let up, as always. "The coffee—did it burn you? Are you okay? Do you need me to drive you home? Should I—"

"Stop it," she says, almost sharply. "Stop it, Booth. I'm fine. Just enjoy your lunch."

"Bones—"

Doctor Brennan doesn't give him a chance to say anything more. Before either Hannah or Booth can get in a word, she's already gone, pushing the doors of the diner open, her stride quick and measured.

"Bones," Seeley murmurs, clearly torn. He wants to go after his partner, Hannah can see, but he wants to stay with her too. Which one of them is more important? Logically, she should be letting him go because his partner being burned is more important than lunch any day. But she doesn't because she realizes suddenly that she isn't sure of how solid her claim on Booth is. She sees that look in his eyes as he looks after his partner, and she wonders if she's imagining it. She _must_ be imagining it, because that's the sort of look that says things only girlfriends are supposed to hear. Things only _she_ should hear.

And she thinks that maybe he's slipping after all, slipping like so much sand through her hands. And just like with sand, she feels helpless to stop it. Maybe, she thinks in despair, maybe one day, she'll wake up and her fairy tale will have gone down the drain. Maybe she'll wake up and her hands will be empty, and Seeley Booth will be gone from her life just as abruptly as he came into it.

* * *

She goes straight home from the diner, not only because the shirt is bothering her but also because she needs to get herself under control before she sees anyone. She unlocks her door quickly and steps inside, swallowing as she sets the stack of damp pages down on the coffee table in her living room.

God. That _look_ Booth had given her. Why—_why_—won't he stop looking at her like that? It confuses her, makes her angry, makes her _feel._ That look coupled with the way he grabbed her waist in the diner, his touch both firm and gentle…She was overwhelmed. She _is_ overwhelmed. It's been too long since a man has touched her like that—softly but solidly—that it surprised her. Still surprises her. Almost—_almost_—for a moment there, she wanted to kiss him so badly her hands nearly moved of their own accord. The intensity of the desire scares her. She'd been so _sure_ she had herself under control. She'd been so _sure_ that all it would take was a few more months, and she'd have buried even the memory of her feelings for Booth. But this moment has shown her quite the opposite—that she isn't anywhere close to moving on, and that it might be getting worse.

_Worse._ How can she possibly be falling deeper in love for a man who will never reciprocate those feelings? For a man who has always operated in a different sphere than hers, separated by level of intellect and social values? For her _partner?_

Because there's a line. Booth drew it in the early days of their partnership, and even though he broke it himself, it's always been there. It's still there, and now that Hannah has become a part of Booth's life, the figurative line is thicker now. They're still partners, still friends, but it's more distant now. Booth makes an effort, she can tell, and she appreciates it, but it isn't the same.

She wonders if it makes her a horrible person for wishing for Hannah and Booth's relationship to fail. She wonders if it makes her selfish and terrible.

She wonders what it means if she doesn't care. She doesn't care if it makes her an awful person. She just wants…

What does she want?

With a quiet sigh, she strips off her clothes and slips into the shower. She turns on the water low to keep from agitating the slightly tender skin on her chest and stomach, and wishes she could wash her confusion right down the drain.

* * *

"Okay, _ew_."

"Yes, I find this scene slightly disturbing also."

Booth wrinkles his nose and steps back. "We've been working crimes for over six years now, and I've never seen _anything_ like this."

Bones grimaces as she reaches for a finger. "Yes, generally, the bodies don't have as much flesh."

"And they aren't cut up into fifteen _parts_," Booth says, his brow furrowing. "This is gross."

Bones, as usual, doesn't seem affected by the _cut-up body parts_ scattered in the field, marked by yellow folded placards. Jeez, what the hell rattles her? He clicks his pen in agitation and says, "Anything on the cause of death?"

Bones levels a look on him, the one that tells him his question was a stupid one. "Even _I'm_ not skilled enough to be able to tell the cause of death without reconstructing the body. It's difficult to tell whether the body was dismembered post-mortem or before. Cam needs to examine what flesh evidence we have before I strip the bones and do a more thorough analysis."

Booth sighs. "Okay." It's going to be a long case, he can already tell. He sighs again and asks, "So is there anything more you can do here?"

She stands and shakes her head, gazing at the body parts strewn throughout the area. "No. Just have the remains sent to the lab, and I'll start from there."

"All right." He calls one of the assistants over and instructs him to pack up the body and to try not to touch _anything_ because Doctor Brennan is particular about who touches her bones. The man nods solemnly and gathers the crew to help. Booth turns back to Bones in time to witness her wince as she bends over to reach for something on the ground.

He bends over hurriedly and scoops up the object on the ground for her and looks up, his expression anxious. "You okay, Bones?"

She nods, straightening. He doesn't miss the way her eyes tighten in pain, and he frowns. "Did the coffee burn you that badly? Do you need to see a doctor or something?"

She shakes her head dismissively. "The burn was very minor and occurred nearly three days ago, Booth. I'm fine."

"Liar," he accuses. "You're in pain about _something_."

She sighs and tries to strip off the glove on her left hand with the hand in her cast. For a long moment, he watches her struggle with it before catching her wrist and pulling it off for her.

"Thank you," she mutters. "This cast is very inconvenient. I'm behind on a large amount of paperwork because I can't write legibly."

He raises his eyebrow. "You're still trying to write, Bones? Jeez, usually a broken arm means you take a vacation. You know, watch some TV, use your arm as an excuse…"

She shakes her head. "I'm behind already, Booth. I can't afford to fall behind anymore now that my workload is heavier." She heads back toward the SUV, and he follows her, tossing the glove into the trash can on the way there. "I may have to ask Cam or Angela to stay late tonight to help me transcribe some of my notes on the case." Her brow furrows and she amends, "Perhaps Cam would be better. Angela has her baby and Hodgins to take care of."

Cam? Angela? What about him?

He has the sudden urge to spend the night with her, working into the dusky hours of dawn just like the old times again. Just him and her in their own little world, alone in each other's company until morning rose and the Jeffersonian filled up again.

So he grins at her appealingly. "Why not me? I might not have that great of handwriting, but I have better handwriting than you at this moment."

She looks at him in surprise, like she'd never even considered him. "But you have Hannah."

"Cam has Michelle," he counters. "That has nothing to do with it. Let me help, Bones."

She frowns. "What about Hannah?"

Booth shrugs. "She's working late today. Some great story about congressmen or something. She said she might even sleep at the office. I'm off all night."

She gives him a doubtful look. "Well, I suppose…"

He flashes her his suck-up smile, the one that almost always guarantees him success, no matter who he uses it on. "Come on, Bones. I'll bring _Thai…_"

Her eyes light up in the way he'd known they would. "Thai?"

Pulling open his car door, he laughs at her expression. "Yes, Thai. Hooked you with that one, didn't I? You can't resist Thai at midnight in your office."

She rolls her eyes and gets into the car. "Fine, I'll let you help me."

He pretends to be offended. "_Let _me? You'll _let_ me? Come on, Bones, we all know who's letting who. It's a _privilege_ to have me helping you, you know."

She rolls her eyes again. "Yes, Booth, if it'll make you feel better, I'll allow you to say that." He tries to chime in smugly, but she continues, "However, you _do_ understand that feeling the need to stroke your own ego is a sign of insecurity?"

Of course she turns it around to insult him somehow. He groans. "It's _not_ a sign of insecurity, Bones. What sort of guy wears a Cocky belt-buckle without being totally secure?"

"That, if anything, further proves your insecurity," she reasons. "If you feel the need to declare just how proficient you think you are sexually, your insecurity is clear. Otherwise, you would perform well in bed without having to openly declare your skill in such an obvious way."

"You think I'm not _proficient_ in bed?" he says incredulously, so distracted for a moment that he nearly blows through a red light.

She shakes her head. "No, considering how many sexual partners you've had, I would assume that you are quite proficient in bed; otherwise, your learning curve would be doubtful at best. What I'm saying is that you are _insecure_ about how you perform sexually."

He tries not to choke on his spit. How the _hell_ have they gotten to talking about _sex_, of all things?

"I'm not insecure!" he protests. "I'm perfectly confident about my…my…"

"Sexual performance?" she fills in. She glances at him and grins widely. "I find it quite amusing that you find it difficult to even say the word _sex_, let alone speak about it."

Hell yeah, he has trouble saying that word around her. It's not because of his Christian values or innocence or something like that, but because every time they broach the subject of _sex_ around Bones, he inevitably gets the mental image of Bones lying naked in his bed. And _that_ never turns out well.

He groans. "Yeah, I find it _difficult._ So let's not talk about it, okay?"

Thankfully, she rolls her eyes and says, "Fine."

Somehow, he gets the feeling that it isn't the end of this conversation.

* * *

It's ten by the time he pops his head into Bones's office, a bag of steaming Thai in one hand and some case files in the other.

"Hey, Bones," he calls, grinning. "Ready to be your scribe. _And_ I brought dinner."

She glances up and smiles when she spots him hovering in her doorway. "Good, you're right on time. I'm ready to detail some reports, and I want you to type it out for me. It'll be faster than writing."

He shrugs. "Sure. Let's just eat first, and we'll worry about work later." He takes out the cartons of noodles and chopsticks and lays them out on her table after moving some files out of the way. A packet of papers catch his eye, and he picks it up curiously. "Is this what I think it is?"

She's too busy opening the steaming carton of food to look up. "What?"

He flips the first page, and his grin widens. "Is this the first chapter to your new book?"

Her head snaps up, and her eyes are wide. "Booth!"

He skips back out of her reach, flipping straight to the dedication page. '"Dedicated to my partner Seeley Booth,"' he reads with a grin, '"who taught me and teaches me still about the ways of the heart.' Aw, Bones, I'm touched. Really."

He doesn't have to look to know she's flushing in that adorable way she has. She rounds the table and lunges for him. "Booth!"

"What's so bad about me reading it?" he teases, turning to the next page. "I'll read it anyway when it comes out."

She glares at him, her lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance. "Booth, _please._ I haven't sent it to my editor, and it really is a poor chapter. I intended to rewrite it when I had the time."

He laughs. "It can't be _that_ bad, Bones. You're a great writer." So saying, he looks down to read the first line, and at that moment, Bones leaps at him and snatches the stack from his hands.

"Don't _do_ that," she says, very nearly pouting. "I'll let you read finished products, but I would prefer my unedited chapters to be read only by my editor."

"Why?" he teases. "Is there something embarrassing in there?"

He'd just been fishing, but by the way she flushes all of a sudden, he's hit the nail on the head. His eyes widen as he repeats, "There's something embarrassing in there?" What on earth could embarrass Bones? She's unshakeable!

"No," she mutters, turning and sliding the chapter into the filing cabinet under her desk. "I just don't like that chapter very much."

Liar. But he figures he's had enough of teasing Bones for the moment, and he can always weasel the chapter out of her sooner or later. So he just sits in the chair opposite her desk and picks up his chopsticks to dig in. They eat mostly in silence, and he keeps his eyes pointedly away from her lips, specifically the way she _licks_ her lips, because he's afraid of how he'll react. Thankfully, he makes it through the whole carton without once wanting to kiss Bones, and to him, that's progress.

"I missed this," he says, leaning back in his chair feeling pleasantly full.

She pauses. "What?"

"_This_," he says. "Us. Eating Thai late into the night and working on cases. It's our time, you know? It's special."

"Special," she repeats slowly. A tentative smile spreads across her face as she says, "Yes, it's our time. I…missed it too."

He smiles broadly at her words. She _missed_ this? She _missed_ spending time with him? She, Doctor Temperance 'I-don't-need-anybody' Brennan, missed _him, _Seeley Booth. Well, damn if that doesn't make him puff up a bit in pride.

"I'm glad I'm here," he says, taking a drink from the water bottle he'd brought. "I mean, I'm glad we're doing this again." After a moment, he asks, more seriously, "We're still friends, right, Bones?"

Startled, she looks at him sharply. "Of course we are, Booth. We've always been friends."

"I don't know." He leans his elbows on the table and looks at her thoughtfully. "It feels…more distant now, don't you think?"

"You have Hannah now," she answers. "Of course it feels more distant. You have to spend time with her, which means you proportionally spend less time with me." At his troubled look, she adds, "I don't have any problem with it, of course. Friendships wax and wane, Booth. It's completely natural."

Wax and wane. Like friendships are something scientific and explainable, not a special relationship between two people. He shakes his head. "I don't want us to be natural, Bones. I want us to be friends forever."

"Forever is extremely vague."

"Forever," he repeats firmly. He reaches out and grabs her uninjured hand gently, looking her in the eyes. "Let's always be friends, Bones. Even if we don't stay partners forever, let's always be friends."

She looks right back at him with those blue, blue eyes of hers. He can't read her gaze at the moment, something that mystifies him. There's some strange emotion there, something he can't identify, something he's never seen in her eyes before. He wonders what she's thinking.

"Yes," she says at last, quietly. "I would like that."

He smiles, a weight he hadn't even known he was carrying easing off his chest. A promise to remain friends, no matter what. It's a good thing, especially with a woman like Bones, someone who constantly surprises him. At least this way, he'll have the reassurance that they'll always look to each other as partners of a sort.

"Well," he says, clearing his throat, "what about those reports you wanted me to type up?"

She rises from her chair behind her desk. "Right. Come sit over here in front of my computer and hand me those files there. I'll tell you what to type."

They switch places, and she flips open the first file. "This is the report on the case we did two weeks ago."

"The Carmichaels," he remembers. "That was a quick one."

With a nod, she starts to talk, and he types it out for her. He has to stop every once in a while so she can spell out whatever high-level terminology she's using, but it goes smoothly. Before long, they've finished three files and are moving on to the fourth.

"We're making good progress," Bones remarks. "It's only one-thirty."

_Only._ He snorts. She really has no clue what normal working hours are. He's been yawning for the past thirty minutes now, and she still looks as fresh as if she'd just rolled out of bed. With a soft groan, he stretches his arms out above his head and leans back into the chair.

She looks up at him questioningly. "Is your back hurting?"

He shakes his head. "No." _Not yet._

"Are your muscles cramping then? Because I am quite adept at massages."

Oh God yes. He pretends he doesn't have an ulterior motive (even the thought of her hands on him makes him shiver) beyond relieving his muscles and says, "Sure, Bones. If you don't mind."

She sets the files down on the table and crosses over to his side of the desk. He tries not to shiver as she places her hands on his shoulders and begins to rub in sweeping circles. God, she's warm. Hot, almost. Her touch sends thrill right through him, from his head to the tip of his toes and everywhere in between. He tries not to think too much on what that means and instead focuses on how she works methodically up and down his shoulders, finding the knots and soothing them in wide sweeps.

He groans and closes his eyes. "That feels great, Bones."

"You've been sitting at a desk for hours," she replies. "Your muscles are extremely tense." She works her way up his neck and back down before saying, "Lean your head forward a little. I have to reach your occipital ridge."

He leans his head forward at an almost comical angle, mainly because he has no idea what she's trying to reach, and she gently pulls his head in the right position as her fingers continue to work their magic. He groans again as a warm tingle spreads throughout him. "Bones, you've _got_ to have a degree in massaging or something. You're the _best_ at this."

"I just have an extensive knowledge of the muscles and prime locations for knots," she answers. "Any doctor would be able to do the same, if not better."

_Not better, _he thinks, his eyes closed. _Definitely not better._ No _way_ a doctor can make him as relaxed as she does. He's practically putty in her hands.

"Is there anything you _aren't_ good at?" he demands. "You're a best-selling writer, a famous forensic anthropologist, an _amazing_ masseuse…"

"I'm not adept at many sports," she puts in. "And you already know about the state of my social skills."

"You're not _that_ bad," he muses. Besides, the fact that she's gorgeous usually makes up for it.

No. _No._ Bones is _not_ gorgeous. He is _not_ thinking about her that way, _no_. Even though her hands on him are making it extremely difficult to think any _other_ way…

_Stop it, Seeley. Get a grip._

He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. Clearing his throat, he says reluctantly, "Okay, Bones, I think I'm good."

She pauses but doesn't remove her hands. "Are you sure? I haven't finished relaxing all of your muscles yet."

"Yeah, Bones, I'm sure." He pulls away from her slightly, unable to stop the pang of disappointment that shoots through him as she removes her hands. He wants immediately to ask her to please finish up her routine or whatever, but he knows that having her hands on him for much longer will probably (definitely) kill his self control. So, with a breath, he turns back to the computer. "What's next?"

She crosses quickly back to her side of the desk and flips open the next file. "Next is…the case we had last week. Victim was twenty-seven year-old Rosa Ellen, stabbed to death by her husband."

"Because she cheated on him," he says, recalling the details.

"Yes, because she claimed he was not a high performer in bed." She looks up from the file and says, "Like your belief."

"_What?"_ He shoots her an incredulous look. Honestly, the way her thoughts run sometimes makes his head spin. "I do _not_ think I'm a bad performer in bed!"

"We already discussed this," she says with a shrug. "You wear the Cocky belt-buckle to declare your sexual proficiency because you lack the confidence to let people assume otherwise."

"I am _not_ insecure!" he exclaims, his eyes narrowing. "The Cocky belt-buckle—_you_ bought it for me in the first place!"

"Only because you like it so much," she counters. "I'm not saying you're a poor performer in bed, as I have no experience, but I'm talking about your _belief_ that you are."

Good _God. _"For the last time," he growls, "I think—I _know _I'm perfectly fine in bed! In fact, I'm probably better than any of the guys you've ever had!"

"Really?" she challenges, raising her eyebrow. "That would be quite an aspiration."

"Really," he repeats mulishly.

"Well, I believe you're a high performer," she says solemnly. He's about to let out a growl of victory when she adds, "But that still doesn't change the fact that your belt-buckle is a sign of self-doubt."

He can't take it anymore. Somewhere between the start of the conversation and the end, the logical side of his mind has taken a leave-of-absence. All that's left is the side that makes him growl, "I'll _prove_ it to you," in an almost-whisper. All that's left is the side that makes him lean forward impulsively and crush his lips to hers.

He knows a mistake when he makes one. He knows it, and he'll own up to it, too, because that's the way he is. But the _problem_ is, this doesn't feel like a mistake. It feels…right. Right in a way he's never had it with any other woman before.

While what little sense he has left is screaming, _What the _hell_ are you doing?_ in absolute horror, the rest of him is giddy drunk—drunk on _Bones_, the smell of her, the taste of her, the sheer gorgeousness of her. God, she's beautiful. And a damn good kisser too. He's half-surprised that she lets him kiss her like this without throwing him headfirst from the third floor of the Jeffersonian, but he definitely isn't complaining. How could _anyone_ complain about having the most gorgeous woman on earth groaning against his lips?

Her hands trail a line of fire up his chest and grip the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer. He closes his eyes and presses in closer to her, groaning softly against her as she runs her tongue out onto his lips. He reaches his hands across the table to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, her soft, soft skin. There's fire between them; the sparks from before have ignited into full-out flame. He feels hot and cool all at once, happy and horrified and incredulous. A thousand emotions rush through him, a thousand thoughts too, but all it takes is Bones's quiet gasp against his lips to wipe his mind blank. He can't think. He can't speak. He can only feel.

Not that he minds. God, she makes him feel so much he feels like he's about to explode from the intensity of it all. Why is she so damn _gorgeous?_

"Booth," she whispers against him, taking a sharp breath.

He doesn't let her talk again because he knows that all that will come out of her is logic, and he can't handle logic right now. Instead, he crushes his lips to hers again and kisses her for all he's worth and more. God, he loves this woman.

And then he feels, with a rush of disappointment, the end coming. He feels her pull back slightly, her lips parting from his, her breath caught in her throat. He feels all his senses returning in a rush to him, and his horror skyrockets, effectively drowning out any giddiness he'd been feeling. He feels the return of reality hit them both across the face like a hard, cruel slap.

Bones releases his lapels like she's been burned and takes a huge step back, her eyes wide. She looks about as horrified as he feels.

"Bones…" he starts. But he doesn't know what to say. What _can_ he say? Nothing—_nothing_—will ever make this right.

"No, Booth," she says, her eyes as big as dinner plates. "_No_."

And she sounds almost angry. Damn it, damn it, _damn_ it. He's screwed up royally. _Damn_ it!

"No?" he repeats dumbly, wondering what it means.

They stare at each other, both at a loss, for what feels like an eternity. Booth's thoughts chase each other around his head, but he can't focus on anything. He can only stand there in her office, his tie slightly crooked, shock nailing him in place. She stares back at him, just as stunned as he is. They give each other a look that wordlessly says, _How do we fix this?_

The answer? _We don't._ He sees the resolve solidifying in her eyes almost as soon as he makes the decision himself. They look at each other and _know_, know that what happened in this office will stay here, that when they walk out the doors, it'll be like nothing ever happened.

They'll bury it, he thinks, half-relieved, half-bitter. They'll go on like nothing's ever happened, like they hadn't collided with all the force of an explosion. They'll pretend, because in their partnership, that's one thing they're experts at—pretending to make it all go away.

"I…"

"Yeah," he agrees quickly. He grabs his coat from her desk, waits for a moment as she shuts off her computer, and helps her throw away the cartons of Thai sitting on her desk. She shuts off the lights, and for a moment, they just stand there, listening to each other's breaths in the darkness. Then they walk together in tense silence to the doors, both lost in their own thoughts, and exit into the quiet night outside.

She turns on her heel the instant they get outside and heads for her car, not even looking back at him. His heart tears a little at the sight of her striding purposefully away from him. He knows he's broken something in their partnership. He knows suddenly that no matter how much they pretend this time, it won't ever be the same again.

"Bones," he can't help but call out to her. He doesn't move from where he is, afraid that if he does, he'll be grabbing her into a tight hug. He doesn't trust himself enough to take his hands out of his pockets, so he just stands there, breath pluming into the calm night.

She doesn't turn around, but she stops. He licks his lips (remembering hers on his) and says, almost hopelessly, "I didn't…that didn't change anything, did it?"

She laughs softly, and he can't for the life of him tell what that means. "What do you mean?"

He doesn't know. What _does_ he mean? That can they still be partners? That can they still be friends? He doesn't know. He doesn't know what he's broken or how to fix it. He only wishes he did.

"I don't know," he says at last, helplessly. "I just…Will I see you tomorrow?" _Or will you be gone, hopped on the next plane to Maluku because I'm such a stupid idiot?_

She's silent for a long moment, a moment in which he holds his breath like her next words will be life and death for him. And who knows? They might be, because he sure as hell isn't going to live with himself, knowing he's screwed up the best partnership—the best _friendship_—of his life. So what is it? Has he irreversibly trampled the line? Or has he just nudged it a little, just a little, so that they can draw it all over again? Can they pretend like they have before, ignore it and hope it goes away?

She takes a deep breath, and he clenches his fists in his pockets.

"Yes, Booth," she says at last, quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He lets out his breath in a long whoosh, the relief hitting him like an airbag to the chest. "Okay...good. Then I'll…I'll see you tomorrow, Bones."

"Tomorrow," she repeats, making it real. She doesn't turn to look back at him as she continues to her car, unlocking it and sliding inside. He doesn't move until he watches her turn out of the parking lot, pull onto the street safely, and disappear around the corner. Only then does he unfreeze from his spot, crossing the empty parking lot to his SUV. He opens the door and sits inside, waiting for the car to warm up, staring out at the cold night and gleaming stars.

Trying to forget the feel of her lips pressed against his.

* * *

**Am I moving too quickly? Thoughts? **


	5. The Buildup of the Break

**Thank you for all your continued support! **

**I'm not a doctor, so please correct me on the names of the bones in the hand part later on in the chapter if I got anything wrong. Thanks!**

**D****isclaimer: Nothing of Bones is mine. **

* * *

**The Buildup of the Break**

The line. The _line_, damn it! How could he…How _dare_ he…_Why_ did he…

Brennan groans and buries her head in her pillows. She has never, ever been a late riser—why waste precious time lounging in bed when there are better things to do?—but for some reason, she can't get up today.

It's because she's tired, she reasons. She hasn't had a good night of sleep in a while now. It's also because she's stressed and therefore in need of rest. The work from the Jeffersonian is piling up along with casework and the Maluku project.

But neither of those is the true reason. When she gets really, truly honest with herself, when she cuts it down to the facts, it's because she's afraid. Very simply afraid. She's afraid of what Booth's touch does to her, what it _did_ to her the night before, and she's afraid of going into the Jeffersonian and seeing him. She's afraid of how he'll react and how she'll react, and she's afraid—terribly afraid—of this ache deep in her chest.

She's moving on. She _must_ be moving on. It's been months, almost a year, and it seems almost impossible for her _not _to move on. But there's this ache, almost physically painful, and she's afraid of what it means. Does it mean she hasn't moved on? That she's incapable of pushing her feelings away? That sometimes, things like love don't weather and fade with time?

With all her heart, she hopes not. It _can't_ be—love _has_ to fade—because she doesn't think she's strong enough to keep going with this for even another couple of months.

Into the silence, her phone rings, and her heart leaps. She knows with a certain anticipation and dread that it's Booth.

Should she answer? Of course she should. If she didn't, it would be a sign that something has changed between them, and she can't let that happen—can't let the crack between them widen. So she pushes herself up off the bed and grabs the phone up from the table.

"Doctor Brennan," she says, even though she knows it's Booth.

"Doctor Brennan! Hi, it's Hannah."

She feels a strange mix of surprise, disappointment, and relief. Hannah? She looks down and finds that the reporter's calling on Booth's phone. After a moment, she raises the phone back to her ear with a frown.

"Hello, Hannah. Do you need something?"

"Yeah, Seeley asked me to call you."

"Oh." Her frown deepens as she untwists herself from her blankets and slides off her bed. Yawning, she asks, "Where is he?"

"In the shower."

Oh. In the shower. She twists to glance at the clock on her nightstand. "It's ten-thirty. Isn't he late?"

Hannah laughs, a crackle through the phone. "Yes, well, he had a _pretty _late night. I won't go into details."

Oh. _Oh._ She freezes in place, trying to work out how she feels about that. For a long moment, she just stands there, the phone pressed against her ear, light filtering in through the curtains of her window. Just breathing. And then, in a rush, there's hurt and surprise and anger, such anger she has the sudden, irrational urge to throw her phone against the wall. Bastard. _Bastard._ Kiss her, smudge that damn line _he'd_ made in the first place, and then have a _late night_ with his girlfriend. That very night. Like what he'd done hadn't affected him at all, like it had been something he could brush off within the space of a few hours.

She wants to curse. She wants to cry. She wants to snap the picture frame sitting on her nightstand in half, the one holding the photograph of her and Booth messing around at the lab. For a long moment, it's all she can do to stand still, breathing evenly, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles pop.

"Temperance?"

She clears her throat. "Yes?"

"Seeley wanted me to tell you that he'll be dropping by today at around eleven to pick up some files on the case you're working on. Is that okay?"

Eleven. She sits down on the bed, crosses her legs, and takes a breath. "I'm actually not at the Jeffersonian right now." She makes a split second decision and adds, "I'm very busy today, and I won't be at the Jeffersonian. Please tell Booth that he can pick up the files tomorrow, or I'll have Cam pull them out for him if he really needs them."

"Oh…all right. I'll tell him when he's done showering."

"Please." Without waiting for a reply, Brennan ends the call and tosses the phone onto the blankets beside her. She sits there for a long while, letting the emotions roil within her, letting them free. She's safe at her house, safe to let herself go in a way she never would with company. She grits her teeth and, in a completely irrational fit of anger, grabs her pillow and launches it across the room. It hits her dresser, and something tumbles off, hitting the ground with a quiet thump.

It's Jasper the pig, she realizes. There's certain poetic justice to that. She stubbornly averts her gaze from the fallen figurine, refusing the urge to get up and make sure it's not broken or damaged in any way.

Five minutes pass. Her phone doesn't ring. She doesn't know if she's angry or relieved at that. She's expecting Booth to call back within minutes, to ask what she's doing if she isn't going to be at the Jeffersonian, to say everything he usually does when she acts off. But he doesn't call. Part of her is glad she doesn't have to talk to him, the part that doubts her own self-control. Part of her wonders if he even cares anymore.

Slowly, she gets up again and takes a long, hot shower. Afterwards, toweling her hair dry, she stands in front of the mirror and looks in.

Blue eyes. Brown hair. A strong mandible, a good zygomatic structure. Anthropologically speaking, she's beautiful. Of course men would want to court her. Of course they do stupid, stupid things like declaring their love for her, for thirty, forty, fifty years. Physical attraction, that's all it is. When physical attraction fades, attention and "love" wanes. _That's_ why Booth has moved on so quickly, and _that's_ why she's feeling this ache. Because she's still physically attracted to him. That's all.

That's _all._

With a quiet sigh, she touches the bandage on her forehead. The stitches have already been taken out, and she's been assured that there won't even be a scar. A couple of weeks more and her wrist will have healed too. All evidence of her run-in in the bar will be gone. Forgotten.

She's glad. She doesn't like being reminded of times when she's lost control. When her walls have fractured and she breaks.

With another sigh, she pads back into her bedroom and find a comfortable t-shirt and jeans to wriggle into. She pauses by the bed, her eyes darting to her phone. Has he called? Maybe he called in the shower, where the water drowned out the ringing. After a moment of hesitation, she grabs the phone and flips it open.

MISSED CALLS (0)

She swallows. Asks herself whether it matters if he's called or not. Decides it doesn't.

She tosses the phone back onto her bed and grabs her coat from her closet before striding into her living room. Since she's essentially given herself the day off and since she can't access her case files without visiting the Jeffersonian, she's got all day and no plans. For a moment, she's at a loss. It's been years since she took time off, years since she had time to herself. She can always call her father. Or Russ. She can always visit her nieces.

Yes, that's what she'll do. It's been too long since she's seen them anyway, so she slips on her coat and opens the door.

And stops, torn. Something pulls her back to the bedroom, to the phone lying on her covers. What if he calls? What if he needs her? But a greater part of her resists the sudden dependency she's developed. Why should it matter to her if he calls or not? Since when has she been so divided over such a little issue as a phone?

She lets logic take its course, as she always does when she is undecided. Logically, if Booth calls her and doesn't reach her, he'll become worried. According to past experience, he'll overreact and become frantic if she doesn't return his call within the hour, calling in his favors at FBI and contacting everyone who might have the slightest idea where she is. And then when he finally reaches her, he'll be angry and scold her for not checking in with him. Like she's a child.

With a sigh, she heads back to the bedroom and scoops up her phone from the bedcovers. She'll take it, if only to spare herself the headache of worrying Booth.

That's what she tells herself, at least.

* * *

He won't call her, he thinks stubbornly. He _promises_ himself he won't call her. If he calls her—if he even _thinks_ about her for too long—it'll mean he hasn't moved on. It'll mean he's still stuck on the past, on her. And he _has_ moved on, damn it. He's moved on.

It's much, much harder than he'd expected. He almost reached for his phone this morning when he woke up, to tell her he needed to pick up some case files just to hear her voice. To hear that they're still okay, even after what he did. But he'd been a coward. He'd ducked into the shower and asked Hannah to call instead, turning the water on loud and hot to drown out their conversation. And then he'd come out, feeling marginally better, to hear that Bones wasn't even going to be at the Jeffersonian today.

_Bones_ isn't going to be at _work._ When in the history of their entire relationship together has she _ever_ voluntarily taken a vacation? A break? Never. She probably wouldn't leave the Jeffersonian even if it were burning down around her ears.

Something's gone wrong in the world. In their partnership.

He realizes then that something _has_ broken between them. Something so deep, so profound, that he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to fix it. But what?

His fingers itch. Sitting on his bed, listening to the patter of water of Hannah in the shower, he reaches for his phone. Once. Twice. Pulls back both times. No, he can't call. He's stronger than this. He's _stronger_ than this.

With a groan, he leaves the bedroom and pads to the kitchen. He fixes up coffee, digs out a box of cereal, and pours himself a bowl with milk. What the hell is Bones doing? If she's not at work, what's she up to? Sleeping? He gets a flash of Bones with her face buried in a pillow and her body all twisted up in the blankets, her shorts ending halfway up her thighs and her shirt riding up in a delightfully—

Goddamn it. _Stop thinking of Bones, you stupid, stupid idiot. _Especially_ like that._

He's saved from falling back into his thoughts when Hannah comes up behind him in shorts and a shirt, her hair still gleaming wet from the shower. She tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek and asks, "What's for breakfast?"

He gives her a weak smile. "Cereal. Or leftover pizza, take your pick."

She reaches up to grab the cereal box from above the refrigerator. "Cereal it is."

He watches her, watches the way sunlight plays with her golden hair, and feels his heart thump. He loves this woman. He _loves_ her. He loves her so much that—

His ears catch the rising melody of his ring tone. In an instant, he's out of his seat. "Gotta get this," he calls back to Hannah, hurrying down the hallway and pushing open the bedroom door. "Work." It isn't _entirely_ a lie.

He grabs the phone up from the table and eagerly scans the caller ID. Angela. Right. He pretends he isn't disappointed and flips the phone open.

"Hello?"

"Booth. Is Brennan with you?"

He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, even though she can't see him. "No. Why?"

"Because she's not here yet, that's why, and it's almost eleven-thirty. Bren _never_ misses work. Ever. I mean, the last time she wasn't here, it was because—"

She cuts off short, but they both already know. They both remember as if it were yesterday. The last time Bones didn't show up to work, she'd been buried alive in a car by a serial killer.

At that thought, a chill shoots through him. He says as evenly as he can manage, "Hannah called her earlier today, and Bones said she wasn't coming into the Jeffersonian today. She was busy with something else. Does that sound normal?"

"Uh…no. Do you even have to ask that question, Booth? Did you hear her voice?"

"No."

Her voice rises anxiously. "Then what if it wasn't her? What if it was a recording or something? Maybe she's already been kidnapped! Booth!"

Okay, now he's starting to panic a little too, even though he knows perfectly well that Bones is probably fine and just sleeping in today. She's probably just tired and overworked, or maybe sick.

_Sick._ Even _that_ causes him to panic.

"Have you called her?" he asks, forcing himself to sit on the bed instead of pacing a rut into the ground.

"Yeah. She isn't answering."

Bones isn't answering? Bones _always_ answers. He feels another chill tingle down his spine and can't help but leap up and pace to the window and back.

"Okay. I'm going to try calling her, and I'll call you back," he tells Angela. She gives him the okay, and he ends the call before hitting speed dial number one. The phone rings for one agonizing moment…two…three…

_You've reached Doctor Temperance Brennan. I am preoccupied at the moment, but leave a message and I will contact you as soon as possible. _

Oh God. She's not picking up.

He tries again, pacing another couple of rounds in the room. Again, it goes to her voicemail. He tries to keep from panicking. There must be a logical explanation to this. She might be sleeping, and her phone might be somewhere else. She could have simply forgotten her phone wherever she was going. Maybe she's in the shower. Whatever it is, there are a million reasons besides kidnapping that justifies her not answering her phone. But still…

Hannah pokes her head in the bedroom. "Something wrong?"

He shakes his head. "You sure Bon—Doctor Brennan picked up earlier?"

She nods, clearly confused. "Of course. Who else?"

"You heard her voice?" Booth presses. "You _definitely_ heard her voice?"

Hannah nods again, slowly. "I definitely heard her voice."

His mind whirls. Maybe Bones was under duress. Maybe some bastard had had a gun to her head, and she'd been saying all sorts of things to keep from getting shot. The thought sends a thrill of terror shooting through him, and he swallows hard.

"I have to make sure she's okay," he tells Hannah, heading for the door. "She's not answering her phone."

Hannah follows on his heels as he grabs his coat from the couch and shoves on his shoes. "She could just be in the shower, Seeley," she says, sounding almost exasperated. "Or her phone's dead. Or she dropped it down the toilet. Just because you haven't heard from her in an hour doesn't mean something's happened to her."

No, that's exactly what it means, because Bones doesn't just _not_ answer her phone. He slips on his jacket hurriedly and shakes his head. "She _always_ answers, Hannah. If she doesn't…" He doesn't finish the thought, but they both hear it anyway. _If she doesn't, something's wrong. _

Hannah nods wearily, her arms crossed. "Let me know if she's okay, then." She looks so tired at that moment that Booth feels a horrible pang of guilt. He knows she's tired of him rushing off with little to no explanation and with seemingly little to no reason. He knows that him rushing off all the time to take care of his partner isn't the life she signed up for when she moved here with him. She wanted to be cared for, to be loved, to feel more important than anyone else in his life. He realizes suddenly that he's doing a terrible job of it.

He steps back from the doorway and pulls her into an impulsive kiss. She stiffens against him for a moment before pressing back against him, her eyes closing.

"I love you," he says as sincerely as he knows how. Somehow, awfully, it feels suddenly like a lie. He shoves the thought away. "I do. This—always running out like this—doesn't change that."

She looks him in the eye and smiles. "I know," she says softly. "You gotta do what you gotta do. I don't want to hold you back."

What has he ever done to deserve her? He bends down to kiss her again, and at that moment, his phone rings piercingly through the silence. In an instant, it's jammed up against his ear, and he says a bit breathlessly, "Hello?"

"Booth? It's Brennan."

His knees go weak with relief. "Oh, Bones. Thank God."

She sounds resigned. "I would tell you not to worry, but you've clearly already done that. I don't appreciate your overprotective behavior."

"Overprotective?" He exhales. "For all I know, you could have been kidnapped!"

"Because I didn't answer my phone? Booth, that's a far-fetched conclusion to draw. I could simply be out of hearing range. Or bathing. Or having sex."

"Oh my _god,_ Bones." He exhales again, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes briefly. "I really don't need to know about that. Seriously." Especially since the all-too-familiar jealousy is already rearing its ugly head.

He gets the feeling she's shrugging. "It's a valid situation."

Yes, it is. He _definitely_ doesn't want her picking up her phone while she's in bed with a guy. Not unless he can chuck his phone out the window immediately afterwards.

With a sigh, he asks resignedly, "So why didn't you pick up the phone?"

She pauses. One second passes, then another. He hears her take a breath. "I stepped outside for a moment and missed your call."

"You're lying," he says flatly. "I can tell."

She sounds confused. "No, you can't."

"Yes, I can. I can hear it in your voice."

"My tone is completely objective—"

"Bones." He says her name sternly, in his no-nonsense voice. She sighs in response.

"Booth, I just think you should stop worrying about me so much. Quite frankly, it's annoying. I have a life outside of you and the job, and I can't always answer my phone. Please stop calling me so frequently and then panicking when I don't pick up. I don't need you to take care of me."

He feels her words, fed to him so dispassionately, hit him like a punch to the gut. She's said things like this to him before, but always with a frustrated edge to her voice, some emotion. This time, they're delivered with perfect coolness. Like he isn't worth getting frustrated over anymore.

"Bones?" he asks tentatively, wishing he could see her face-to-face. Wishing he could read her expression, her body language, anything.

"I'm quite busy today, Booth. So if you don't mind."

"I mind—" he manages before she hangs up on him. _Hangs up on him._

Since when has she hung up on him without so much as a _Goodbye, Booth_?

He glances up in confusion and irritation and meets Hannah's eyes. She raises an eyebrow. "Well? Is she okay?"

He shrugs. "She's fine."

He thinks. He hopes.

He realizes with sudden sickening certainty that this confirms it: something's definitely cracked in their partnership. Like glass splintering, a thousand hairline cracks appearing across the once-glossy surface. Maybe they'll shatter today, maybe tomorrow. He wonders in despair when those cracks appeared and why—_why_—he hasn't noticed until too late. Is there time to fix it? Or will their partnership, that fractured glass, shatter into a hundred pieces forever?

* * *

She shuts the phone with a deep breath. Damn it. She lost control again. She got angry, angry that he kissed her, and then went back to his girlfriend like nothing had happened, and then called to check up on her like she was a child. Like she isn't capable of taking care of herself. He's sending her all these mixed signals and he expects her to grin and bear it like the good friend and partner she is? Like she isn't capable of being hurt too?

She clenches her hands on the steering wheel and pulls to a stop. It takes her a moment to realize that she hasn't gone to visit Russ at all. She's at the mall, at the reflecting pool. In the distance, there's the coffee cart, throwing shadows under the sun.

Why is she here?

She decides not to question it. Logically, it's morning, and she's tired. Her body instinctively sought out nourishment, and coffee was what it came to. So she parks and locks her car before striding toward the coffee cart.

She orders a coffee, her hands tucked in her pockets for warmth, before finding an unoccupied bench. _The_ bench. The one that a year ago, she and Booth had agreed to rendezvous at. A whole year ago, three hundred sixty-five days. Nothing should change much in a year. Evolution takes thousands of years to occur. But things _did_ change. Booth came back, and she came back, and Angela and Hodgins came back, but it wasn't the same. It hasn't been the same since.

With a sigh, she sips her coffee and gazes out at the pool. She's tired of waiting to move on, too tired. She just wants to do it already, get it over and done with. Why is she stuck in a rut when everyone else has shifted around her to find happiness? Why is she the only one standing still?

"Doctor Bones! Doctor Bones!"

She looks up in shock to find a familiar blond-haired boy bounding up to her, a beaming grin on his face. Parker comes to a skidding stop in front of her and demands with a frown, "Why haven't you been to see me?"

For a moment, she can only stare at him, startled. Then she says slowly, "I haven't been invited by your dad, Parker."

His frown deepens. "Why hasn't he invited you then?"

_Because he has a girlfriend now._ Shaking away the thought, she asks, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

He shakes his head and smiles. "Field trip. We went to the Lincoln Memorial. Did you know he was the sixteenth president?"

She nods and can't help but smile back. "Yes, I did. Did you learn anything else?"

He bobs his head with an excited grin, a smile that transforms his face into a mini-Booth. "Martin Luther King gave his speech there. And the building's in the style of…of…"

"Greek revival," she fills in with a smile. Standing, she says, "Come on. I'll buy you some cake."

They walk back to the coffee cart, and she pays for some chocolate cake that the vendor has on hand. Handing it to a delighted Parker, she leads him back to the bench, and they settle in, her with her coffee and him with his cake.

"You don't want a bite?" he asks around a mouthful. "It's really good."

She shakes her head. "I'm not hungry. You eat it."

He shrugs. "Okay." After another moment of companionable silence, he asks, "You know my dad has a new girlfriend?"

She glances down at him. "Yes. Have you met her?"

Parker nods, licking his fork. "Dad took her camping with us—about two weeks ago, I think? She doesn't know a lot about camping. She knows a lot about other things though."

"Oh?"

Parker nods again. "She taught me about cameras and stuff. She showed Dad how to take good pictures. They looked really neat after we printed them out." He takes another bite of his cake and asks curiously, "How did you break your arm?"

"It's my wrist," she answers, holding up her cast when he reaches out to touch it. "I got into a fight."

Parker makes a face. "Fighting's bad. So is breaking your arm. It itches a lot, doesn't it?"

She smiles and admits, "Yes, it does. But that's a sign it's healing."

He nods self-importantly. "I remember when my arm was broken. It took about six weeks to heal, and it itched real bad. But a lot of people signed my cast, so it was cool. Can I sign your cast?"

Her smile widens, and she says, "Sure. Do you have a pen?"

She waits as he digs a Sharpie out of his backpack before offering her arm to him. He scrawls carefully on the rough plaster, throwing up a hand to cover her eyes when she tries to peer over his shoulder. "No looking!" he commands imperiously. With an amused sigh, she turns away obediently and waits for him to finish his signature.

"Okay," he says finally. "You can look now."

She turns back and raises her arm. Her breath catches as her eyes find the words scrawled on her cast.

_Booth loves you._

Sending him a questioning look, she asks, "Why did you write Booth?"

He shrugs. "A bunch of guys in school say using your last name is cooler than using your first one. And you always use Dad's last name, so I wanted to use mine too." He flushes a little and adds, "Those guys in school also say that love is for girls, but Dad always says you should tell people you love that you love them, because sometimes they don't know."

She looks at him for a long moment, wondering if he knows how hard those words on her cast have hit her. They hit her with a weight that almost knocks the breath out of her, because she realizes all over again what she's lost. _Booth loves you._ Once. Only once. What had she given up? What had she run from, blindly escaping without ever knowing what she could have had?

She swallows hard and forces a smile. "Thank you, Parker. That's very sweet of you."

He beams at her. "Do you want me to draw a picture too?"

He looks so eager she can't refuse him. So, wordlessly, she offers up her arm again, and he sets to work. She teasingly tries to peer over his shoulder again, but he shoots her a glare that makes her turn away in surrender.

"There!" he exclaims happily after a long moment. "Okay, you can look now."

She looks, and her breath catches again. There's just something about Parker that surprises her every time, and it isn't different now. He does little things that hit her like a punch to the gut, and as logical as she is, as intelligent, she is somehow always caught off guard.

Three stick figures dance along above the words, one labeled Dad, one labeled Parker, and the last one—the only one with hair and a skirt—labeled Bones. They all hold hands with wide smiles on their faces, looking for all the world like a little family.

"Sorry about the stick figures," Parker says apologetically. "I'm taking art in school, but I'm not very good at it. There's a girl next to me though who's really good. Her name's Jordan, and everything she draws is really real!" He thinks for a moment and adds, "Not as good as Angela's drawings, but they're pretty good anyway."

Tearing her eyes away from the drawing, Brennan smiles at him. "Thank you, Parker. I love the drawing." She checks her watch and realizes that almost twenty-five minutes have passed already. Worriedly, she asks, "Where's the rest of your group, Parker? Isn't your teacher going to be worried?"

A look of alarm shoots across his face, and his eyes go wide. "Oh no. I saw you sitting here and told my teacher I had to go to the bathroom. I didn't mean to be gone this long." With a groan, he slides down in his seat. "Ms. Tyler's going to be _so_ mad."

Hurriedly, Brennan rises and holds out her hand to him. "Come on. I'll walk you back to your group and explain things."

They hurry back to where the school bus is clearly parked, and a hassled-looking teacher catches sight of them. Her eyes go wide with relief, and she rushes over, her expression angry.

"Parker! Where have you been? Heavens! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

She grabs his arm, and he lets out a yelp. Brennan moves forward automatically and says, "You're hurting him."

The woman releases Parker and says, "I'm sorry, it's just—Never mind." She makes an attempt at a smile and extends her hand. "My name is Jenny Tyler. Thank you so much for bringing this boy back."

"Doctor Temperance Brennan," she returns, shaking hands quickly and awkwardly with her cast-covered hand. "Parker was just talking with me for a little bit. I hope he doesn't get into too much trouble."

Ms. Tyler sighs heavily. "This is against the rules. He'll be suspended from field trips at the very least, and we'll have to call his father down."

"Oh, you don't have to call Booth," Brennan assures her quickly. "I can tell him if you want."

Ms. Tyler's eyes widen. "You know Seeley Booth?"

She nods. "I work with him."

The teacher frowns. "I still have to give him a call, though. It's school policy, and we can't get around it."

Parker turns to give her a wide-eyed look. "I'm going to get into so much trouble," he whispers.

Brennan gives him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I'll speak with your father." She doesn't remember that she's not exactly on good terms with Booth at the moment; she just feels oddly protective of Parker, and the need to defend him is almost automatic.

"Would you like to be present at the conference then?" Ms. Tyler suggests politely. "I can schedule it for today at four. Does that work for you?"

Parker's face flushes with such acute relief that she can't refuse. So she nods and gives Ms. Tyler her number, just in case she needs to be contacted. Then, giving Parker a wave of goodbye, she returns to her car, taking a breath before she turns the key and pulls out and away from the mall.

* * *

A little over four hours later, she's sitting in the main office's waiting chairs with Parker by her side. "Phalanges are the finger bones," she explains patiently, holding up her uninjured hand as an example. "They are attached to the metacarpal bones here, which are attached to the trapezium, trapezoid, scaphoid, capitate, lunate, hamate, pisiform, and triquetrum."

"Phalanges," Parker mutters, his brow furrowed. "Metacarpal, trapezium, trampoline—"

"Trapezoid."

"Trapezoid. Scaphoid…" Trailing off, he looks up at her helplessly.

"Capitate, lunate, hamate, pisiform, and triquetrum," she repeats, pointing to them again. At his frustrated sigh, she adds, "You're doing quite well, Parker. You've already memorized some of the axial skeleton, and the appendicular skeleton will come later. If you want—"

Before she can finish, the door swings open, and a harried-looking Booth hurries in, his brow creased with worry. As he catches sight of Parker sitting in the chair kicking his dangling feet, his face breaks into a relieved smile.

"Parker," he says, clearly trying for a stern tone. His severe expression is mostly ruined by his relief, though, and after a moment, he just sighs. "You scared me there, Parker. We're going to have a talk. A _long_ talk."

Parker shrinks in his seat, and Brennan sits up straighter automatically. She opens her mouth to speak, but at that moment, Booth turns and waves a hand.

"Come on, Hannah. No need to be shy."

Hannah? He brought Hannah? _Here?_ Brennan sits in silent surprise as the blond reporter slips in behind Booth, smiling in greeting.

"Hello, Doctor Brennan," she says with a wave. "Hi, Parker."

Brennan catches Booth shooting Parker an expectant look, and his son mumbles, "Hi, Ms. Burley."

Hannah laughs. "Call me Hannah. Ms. Burley makes me feel so old."

"Hannah," Parker repeats dutifully.

"We're all here now?" The principal, up until this moment sitting quietly behind his desk, rises. "Harold Mosley, principal of the school. Pleased to meet you all."

A round of introductions and hand-shaking go around, and soon, they're all settled in chairs across from the principal. He sits back, folding his hands over his stomach, and looks at them over the rims of his glasses.

"Well," he starts, "Parker is here because he violated the rules of the field trip form, which he and his parent signed."

Booth leans forward in his chair to shoot Parker a stern look. "Park…"

Brennan feels the need to qualify. "He wasn't in any danger. He and I had a very pleasant conversation, and I walked him straight back to the bus."

Mr. Mosley frowns. "Still. The rules of the field trip clearly require him to stay with an adult chaperone the entire time."

"Well, then I assume it would be irresponsible of the adult chaperone to allow him to use the restroom unattended?" Brennan points out. "In that case, it wouldn't be his fault at all."

"Bones!" Booth hisses, turning to glare past Hannah at her. "We're not trying to make up excuses for Parker; we're trying to show him that he shouldn't break the rules!"

She sits back in her seat. "Oh. In that case, continue please."

The principal gives them amused looks before continuing. "Since the rules he violated weren't too serious, he should get off without suspension. He won't be able to attend anymore field trips for the rest of the year, though."

Parker looks crestfallen. A heartbeat passes before Booth says, "Isn't that a little harsh?" at the same time Brennan says with a frown, "The punishment should fit the crime." They glance at each other in surprise for a split second before averting their eyes again.

"Crime?" Booth mutters. "It sounds like Parker shoplifted or something."

She shrugs. "Any breach in the rules can be considered a crime."

The principal clears his throat. "Would you like to appeal the decision?"

Booth nods immediately. "I know what Parker did was stupid and irresponsible, and you can bet he's going to get a long lecture when he gets home, but I don't think he should be suspended from field trips. Can't he do some community service or something?"

"Community service?" Hannah repeats with a grin. "I thought you said he wasn't a criminal."

Booth sighs. "I mean, helping out teachers or something. Can't he serve detention for a week?"

The principal shakes his head slowly. "I don't know…"

"It is illogical to deprive him of further learning experiences," Brennan cuts in. "He left his group for twenty minutes; he didn't vandalize or disrespect any property, nor did he disrespect the chaperones or guides. Leaving the group can't possibly warrant so severe a punishment."

The principal pauses with a questioning look, and Brennan explains, "I read the permission slip while I was waiting. It clearly states leaving the group without supervision as one of the lesser offenses. I also read the adult chaperone form, which detailed the adult's responsibility to keep up with the children at all times. Therefore, it can be inferred that the fault is both Parker's and his chaperone's."

Principal Mosley shoots a raised eyebrow at Booth. "Is she always like this?"

She can hear the smile in Booth's voice even before she sees it. "Yeah, she is. Is she right though?"

Mosley sighs. "She makes a good point." Parker perks up eagerly, and the principal gives him a small smile. "All right. I'll concede to a week's detention. Agreed?"

They all mutter their agreement and stand. After quick goodbyes, they step out of the office into the hallway.

Booth exhales heavily through his nose. "Parker," he says sternly, "don't think you've gotten out of this. It was incredibly dangerous for you to go off on your own like that."

"It wasn't a great distance," Brennan protests. "And he was perfectly safe with me. Safer, I imagine, because I am highly trained in self-defense."

Booth glares at her irritably, his hands on his hips. "That's not the point, Bones. The _point_ is, what if he got lost? Or he only _thought_ he saw you, and it turned out to be some pedophile on a bench preying on little kids? Or someone snatched him off the road as he was walking over to you? We would've never known what happened. He would've—God, he would've just been gone." Clearly upset, he runs an agitated hand through his hair.

She tries to placate him. "Then you should lecture him, yes, I agree. But this time, it was okay—"

"No, Bones," he says angrily, "it wasn't okay. Saying it's okay one time makes him think it'll be okay the next time too, and then what if it's _not_ okay the next time?"

"Booth—"

He cuts her off, his voice biting. "It's little things, Bones! Little things that lead to big ones. One day it's leaving a field trip without permission, and the next, it's skipping school, and then the next thing you know, he's a high school dropout doing drugs on some godforsaken street corner. Or he's murdering someone, becoming _exactly_ the type of person you and I catch for a living."

"You're overreacting," she says, her brow furrowed.

"No, I'm not," he snaps. Turning to his son, he says sharply, "Parker, you need to understand how dangerous it was for you to walk off like that. If—if the person you saw hadn't been Bones…" He shakes his head. "You shouldn't break rules, ever. _Ever,_ Parker, you understand?"

His son nods quickly, his eyes wide and frightened.

"Booth," Brennan admonishes, stepping forward. "You're scaring him."

"He needs to be scared," Booth shoots back with a glower. "Anything could've happened."

"But it didn't," she says firmly. "It _didn't_, Booth. He's fine."

"You aren't helping things here, Bones!"

She glares right back at him, refusing to be intimidated. "Why are you so angry, Booth?"

_That _makes him pause. For a moment, he just stares at her, clearly caught off guard. But, not even a second later, he turns the tables on her in that sure, intuitive manner he has, asking, "Why did you hang up on me earlier?"

Damn it. She should have known he would catch her coolness toward him. She should have known he would ask her about it. Now she wishes she'd prepared a coherent answer.

"I—I didn't…"

He steps in again, his height forcing her to lean her head back to catch his eyes. "Yes, you did. You said I was annoying and hung up on me."

"I didn't say you were annoying," she protests. "I said your _behavior_ was. And frankly, it _is._"

"It's natural!"

"It's sexist! You assume—wrongly—that because I am female and therefore weaker in muscular strength than you, I am inferior and incapable of defending myself."

"I do _not_ think that!"

"Oh?" she challenges. "Then why do you repeatedly insist on checking up on me like I'm a child?"

"Because I worry about you!" he exclaims in exasperation. "You're my partner. Of course I worry!"

"Like you worry about Parker?" she demands hotly. "Because you seem to be overreacting to my missed call just as much as you overreacted to Parker's excursion."

And then she hears what she's said, and her eyes fly open just as wide as his do as they make the connection simultaneously. _Like you worry about Parker._ The difference is, he loves Parker. There is no way her friendship with Booth can compare to a bond like that. Unless…unless he has the same strength of feelings toward her, which is her implied question. Her stupid, _stupid_ implied question.

Eyes wide, she steps back. "No, don't answer that."

He reaches for her, his expressions softening. "Bones…"

She holds up her hand to ward him off. "Booth…" But she doesn't know what to say. She's a mess of emotions inside, anger and confusion and fear all mixed into one.

His eyes slide down to her arm, to the words and picture scrawled on her cast, and his eyes fly up to meet hers in shock. "Who—did Parker draw that?"

Bewildered by the sudden change in topic, she nods slowly. "Yes, when he came to talk to me during his field trip."

He reaches out slowly and touches her arm, tracing his fingers along the word _loves_ and the picture of the three of them holding hands and smiling. Even though there's a cast, even though she can't feel his fingers on her skin, she trembles at his touch. Instantly, she's furious at her own reaction, but somehow, she can't help it. She tries to look away, but he catches her eyes with an intensity in his gaze that makes her breath catch.

Abruptly, he wheels away, spinning on his heel toward Parker. "Come on, Parker. Let's get going." His voice sounds strange, strained almost. Brimming with emotion she can't identify.

Parker takes Booth's hand obediently, and Hannah joins them on Booth's other side. Brennan starts at the sight of her, having nearly forgotten the reporter was there at all. Parker cranes his neck and waves to her, but Booth strides off without so much as a goodbye, leaving Brennan standing alone in the foyer of the school.

Watching them, watching their picture-perfect family making their way to Booth's SUV, she's struck with the loss of it all. She remembers the days _she_ was the one on the other side of Booth, leading a giggling Parker through the zoo, or through the Jeffersonian. She remembers the time Booth forced her to take Parker trick-or-treating when he was busy with casework, and she remembers the chagrined look he gave her when they returned with a pillowcase full of raisins and healthy snacks. She remembers the days she stood where Hannah is now.

With another pang of loss, she wonders if, by turning down her partner all those months ago on those steps, she let go of both Booths without ever intending to.

* * *

**Leave me your thoughts please!**


	6. The Truth in the Talk

**Pretty short chapter, but I'm almost a hundred percent sure you'll like it. **

**Disclaimer: Bones isn't mine...**

* * *

**The Truth in the Talk**

She's young. She's naïve. She might even be a little foolish sometimes, but she isn't blind. She's always been sharp, so it surprises her that she hasn't truly noticed until now—until she hears Seeley's voice catch in his throat as he traces Temperance's cast, those words and that happy picture that looks somehow _right._

He loves her. Of course. It's so simple that Hannah's shocked she hasn't seen the truth before. She's always suspected there is something _more_ between Seeley and his partner—lust? physical attraction?—but she's never suspected the truth of it all: that Seeley is head over heels, completely and irreversibly, in love with his partner.

Instantly, a wave of anger makes her fists clench and her eyes narrow. It takes all of her willpower to keep silent in that painful moment of betrayal. She trusted this man. She's moved to Washington to be with him, given up her love of travel to stay with him, and given him her heart, whole and warm. And he's accepted it all with a blinding, charming smile that makes her light up—all the while keeping one eye on his beautiful partner. _What the hell, what the hell, Seeley?_

Hurriedly, she calms herself, quickly and with discipline just as she's been taught. Reporters should always keep levelheaded and cool because they aren't likely to run into the politest people on the planet in their line of work. So she takes a deep breath and tries to think it through to avoid leaping to conclusions.

Seeley loves Temperance. It's obvious now that she knows. The way he looks at her, the way he visibly restrains himself in her presence, the way he stands close to her but not touching—all of it practically screams attraction and more. Maybe something even happened between them, but they aren't together now. It's painfully obvious in their slight awkwardness around each other, the way Temperance's eyes glance off Seeley's but never quite catch, and the way he touches her only hesitantly. So she knows, instinctively, that at least he hasn't done anything with his partner. He may be in love with her, he may have even told her, but he's stayed loyal, just like Hannah always knew he would. But why, if he's so obviously in love with his partner, has he said nothing?

The shock on his face when he spots those words on Doctor Brennan's cast tells her everything in a glance: he doesn't _know_ he's in love with Doctor Brennan. Somehow, incredibly, he's unaware of his own attraction to another woman. Or, more likely, he's completely aware of it and trying to resist it. Why? Out of loyalty to Hannah? Maybe…maybe he's trying to do right by her after all. Maybe he still has his values left, and maybe he's genuinely cares about her enough to try to bury his feelings for his partner to protect his girlfriend.

At that thought, some of the anger in her softens, but the greater part of her is still bitter. Still feeling the ache of heartbreak. She grabs a hold of these bitter feelings, holds them close, because, as she knows from experience, anger is always better than tears.

She watches him abruptly spin on his heel, his eyes still slightly wide, and grab his son by the hand. "Come on, Parker," he says, his voice strangled with emotion—confusion, lingering surprise, restraint. "Let's get going." Without so much as a goodbye to Doctor Brennan, he starts for the doors, his jaw clenched. After a moment, Hannah starts after him, her brow furrowed as her brain leaps to process what she's seen. _Callous_ is what comes to mind when she sees how he doesn't intend to turn back to say goodbye to Doctor Brennan. She feels a pang of satisfaction in it too, hoping in a fit of jealousy and cruelty that Doctor Brennan is hurt by it. But, she realizes almost instantly, his silence isn't intentional. He's shaken by something, and he isn't thinking quite straight. He's only doing the instinctual thing: distancing himself from the problem to either think it out or hope it solves itself.

Some of the satisfaction deflates, and with it, the anger. She realizes that Seeley is just as confused about his feelings as she is—hell, probably _more_ confused—and she realizes she can't really blame him. She's not the type of person to hold grudges anyway, and if there's anything she's learned as a reporter, it's that making conclusions without having a face-to-face, honest-to-God conversation is like jumping into quicksand and hoping there's dry land underneath.

She forces herself to calm down, forces the automatic fury and betrayal away. While she sits in the car waiting as Seeley walks Parker up to the door to his mother to explain the field trip situation, she takes deep, steadying breaths and tries to think out how she'll approach it. Cool, collected, and direct. But not angry. No, she won't go to him angry. If she's wrong, he'll resent her. If she's right, he'll feel even guiltier because of her anger. And as absolutely tempting as that is, she has her morals too. She won't be the evil girlfriend Seeley will resent years from now. No, she'll be as understanding as she can manage, because even after all this, Seeley is as good a man as she's ever known, and he deserves as good a person as she can be.

On the long, silent ride home, she prays, prays, prays she's wrong.

* * *

"Seeley, we need to talk."

Booth drops his keys on the table next to the apartment door and shakes his head. "Not now, Hannah, okay? I'm really tired."

She crosses her arms and moves in front of him. "Seeley. If not now, then when?"

He looks down into her eyes and sees that she's serious, as serious as he's ever seen her. Swallowing, he suddenly has a bad feeling about this, and he nods with a quiet sigh, rubbing his eyes. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"Let's sit down," she suggests, moving toward the living room. He follows her obediently, wondering why she's so serious all of a sudden. They both sit, she in the armchair across from him as he stretches on out the couch.

"Okay," he says when they're settled, "what are we talking about?"

Hannah hesitates. She bites her lip and glances at him shyly, once, twice. It almost reminds him of Bones when she doesn't quite know what to say or how to say it. With a sigh and an encouraging smile, he says, "Spit it out, Hannah."

She takes much less encouragement than Bones usually does. "Okay." She takes a deep breath and asks in a rush, "Are you in love with Doctor Brennan?"

_What?_

He stares at her. He can't help it. His mouth runs dry, and he feels like he's swallowed sandpaper. The smile slips off his face. He feels suddenly, irrationally, like he's been caught in the lie—but _what_ lie?

She takes in his silence and nods slowly. "That's a yes, then."

He hurriedly moves to sit upright, shaking his head vehemently. "No, no, no, Hannah, I love _you_."

She shakes her head too, sadly. "Seeley, don't lie to me. You haven't lied to me yet, and don't start now."

Her words sent a pang of guilt through him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He's guilty because she doesn't know about all the times he'd been thinking about Bones when he'd told her he wasn't. She doesn't know the nightmares he wakes up at night from are all about Bones getting shot or hurt or kidnapped. She doesn't know what used to be between them, something so real he'd almost grasped it between his fingers. When had he started to keep so many secrets from her? And why are all his secrets centered around Bones?

He forces himself to look her in the eye and says, "I love you, Hannah. I do."

She smiles, but it's sad. "Do you really? Maybe you just _want_ to love me so badly you almost do. _Almost._"

"Not _almost_," he protests, giving her an earnest look. "I love you. I love you. How many times have I told you that?"

She doesn't answer for a long moment. Instead, she turns her head and stares out at the window to the dark sky beyond. He scrutinizes her expression closely, wondering when he's grown so inept at reading people. It's his _job _to read people, for goodness sake, so why can't he read people when it matters most? Not Bones then, not Hannah now. He's shut out, and he's feeling more and more often these days like Bones must feel—fenced off, unable to understand the very real emotions flying around, bewildered by everything his heart throws him.

"I see how you look at her," Hannah says at last, not looking at him. "You don't look at anyone like that. Not even me."

His breath catches in his throat. He can't have been so obvious, could he? Sure, he might have snuck some glances at Bones here and there, but it's all guilty pleasure. It's not like he'll ever really do anything other than look at Bones, not when he has Hannah. Not when Bones has pushed him away already.

"Bones and I have been partners a long time," he says at last, not looking her way. "We're just really good friends."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hannah's wry smile. "Really good friends. Right."

"Really!"

"Really."

He hates the quiet pain in her voice, hates even more that he's the cause of it. Damn it. _Damn it._ He tried to be honest, and he hurt Bones. He tried burying his past, and he hurt Hannah. Is there no way he can make a woman happy? How does he untangle the mess he's made of his life?

"Your son doesn't like me like he likes her either," Hannah says with a small smile. At Booth's automatic move to protests, she adds, "When we dropped him off earlier at his mother's house…he doesn't look at me the same way either, Seeley. When he looks at Temperance, he's…glowing."

"He's really good friends with her too," Booth tries, but even he knows his attempt is weak.

She laughs softly. Her eyes flash up to meet his for a brief, brief moment before darting away again. "Seeley, when we came back from Afghanistan, did you ever think we were going to last?"

He nods vehemently. "Of course I thought we were. I mean, I _still_ think we _are._ We're going to last because we're _right_ for each other. Look, Hannah. I love you. For real." He shifts to the edge of the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I don't say that to just anyone. I've…known a little about love, and I know how strong it can be. So I wouldn't just lie to you about it."

She smiles sadly. "Seeley, don't you see? Maybe it's not me you're lying to."

He stares at her in confusion. "Who else would I be lying to?" Not that he's lying at all, because he isn't. He _loves_ her.

She sighs. "Maybe it's yourself."

And her words hit him like a punch to the gut, because all of a sudden, just like that, he _sees._ He sees with startling clarity what he's been struggling to hold back for months, ever since they returned from their respective corners of the earth to Washington. He sees what he's been terrified of admitting to anyone, even to himself.

He's still in love with her. God,_ he's still in love with her._

His mind shuts down the thought immediately, defensively. No, he's not. He _can't_ be, because he's in love with Hannah. He's _been_ in love with Hannah for a long, long time now. He's kept his promise to Bones; he's moved on because he knows that with Bones, with someone so strong and yet somehow still so scared, he'll never find what he wants. She told him as much herself. She'd _encouraged_ him to move on, for God's sake! He's been doing the right thing all along. He _has_, damn it.

"I don't love her," he says quietly, and the words almost hurt as he says them. He doesn't think he's ever told so terrible a lie. As soon as the words leave his lips, guilt makes his mouth dry.

She sees right through him. "Don't lie to me, Seeley. If you ever loved me—if you ever even _liked_ me—you owe me the truth."

_He owes her the truth._ Doesn't he? After all he's put her through, after running off at the drop of the hat for Bones, after coming home to take her patient presence for granted, doesn't he owe her some honesty?

"What if I hurt you?" he says, looking away. A stupid question, he realizes instantly. He's already hurt her; it's just a question now of _how badly._

"Honesty," Hannah replies. But she sounds like as much as she needs to know, she doesn't want to. He wouldn't want to know either, if the woman he loved was torn between two men. But he can't keep it in any longer, can he? Because, he realizes suddenly, when you're in love with two people at once, someone always ends up hurt.

Very quietly, thinking the whole while he sounds like a miserable little coward, he asks, "Do you think it's possible to be in love with two people at once?"

There—it's out. He's let the words loose finally. He loves Hannah, yes. But he loves Bones too, loves her with a deep longing he's nursed for six years now, loves her so much his chest aches and he has nightmares about her getting hurt. He loves her so much a year's denial and a beautiful girlfriend has done nothing for him beyond reinforcing everything he feels toward her.

Hannah sighs quietly. "I knew it." But she doesn't sound bitter, just weary. He'd almost prefer her on her feet and screaming at him, because now, watching her sit there understandingly makes him feel like even more of a bastard.

He sighs miserably. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I didn't mean…I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt _anyone_. But somehow, I just find a way to screw everything up." He runs a hand through his hair and can't even bring himself to meet her eyes.

"Seeley," she says gently. When he doesn't respond, she rises from the armchair and crosses over to the couch, sitting down beside him with their knees barely touching. He shivers at the contact. "Seeley, my father used to tell me that a man who tries to please everyone pleases no one."

"I feel awful," he groans, turning away from her touch. "I'm a terrible, terrible person."

They sit there in silence for a long moment. He sneaks a glance at her, trying to puzzle out just how bad the whole situation is, and finds her with a conflicted expression on her face. After a moment, she seems to gather together her resolve and turns her head to look at him. She reaches out to him again, taking his hand in hers, and he doesn't have the heart to pull away.

"Seeley, let me tell you a story." She licks her lips and glances down at her hands for a second before looking back at him. "When I was in my first year of journalism, I interviewed a World War II veteran. Really neat old guy, tons of stories up his sleeve. They let us interview people like that early on because it's easy to get interesting stories out of them; they've lived so long and seen so much, you know? So I went to him expecting all these war stories and horrible tales about lost friends or fallen soldiers. And for a while, that's what we talked about. But then I asked him what his greatest regret was, and it blew me away. You know what he told me?"

Booth shakes his head, wondering where this is going and how talking regrets is supposed to make him feel better—and wondering if she's trying to make him feel better at all. "What?"

"A love story," she answers, a remembering smile on her face. "He told me a _love story._ Here I was, rookie journalist, expecting some meaty story about not being able to save a dying soldier, or maybe losing a best friend in the line of duty, and the vet feeds me a _love story._ But then I really listened to him, and I realized this love story was probably worth more than all the gory war stories he could have told."

"His regret," Booth can't help but ask. "What was his regret?"

She turns to him fully then, a small smile on her lips but it's sad. "He said he let the right woman go and the wrong woman stay." She laughs softly. "That was when he was twenty. Can you believe it? An ancient old veteran of one of the bloodiest wars on earth, and his one regret in all his years was a love that happened sixty, seventy years back." Her voice quiets, thoughtful now. "It stays with you, Seeley. That man showed me that feelings like that—like the ones you obviously have for your partner—they don't go away, ever. They stick with you."

He swallows hard and tries again, stubbornly, "What if I feel the same way about you?"

She shakes her head. "Let's stop that, okay? If you love someone like you love Temperance, you don't have enough heart left over to love a second person, don't you think?" She squeezes his hand and looks into his eyes. "I don't want to be the regret you still remember sixty years down the road, Seeley."

His heart tears for her, for this strong, selfless woman who has opened up the possibility to everything he wants and more, all at cost to herself. "Hannah…" His voice breaks, and he has to swallow before going on. "What—what about your fairytale? You told me you were waiting for that prince charming. I don't…I don't want to be the one who stamps all over your dreams and leaves you like some cold-hearted bastard."

She smiles gently and squeezes his hand one last time before letting go. "Seeley. I think I realized a long time ago that it isn't my fairytale I'm living; it's hers."

In that moment, he feels a swell of affection for her very close to love, so close, so damn _close, _but not quite. He can tell the difference now, now that he's admitted to himself that his feelings for Bones haven't changed in the slightest. He _does_ love Hannah, he realizes, but in a different way than he loves Bones. More friendly, affectionate, not as deep but still real.

He reaches out an arm suddenly and crushes her into a tight hug. "I love you," he says fiercely, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I do. Not…not the same way I love Bones, but I _do_ love you, in my own way. You've been the best friend anyone could ever ask for, and the best girlfriend too. You've given me so much, and I can't ever repay you for that. So thank you."

He feels her smile into his shoulder. "I know, Seeley. I know." She sounds like she's holding back tears, and he can't help but hold her tighter. "It's been fun. I learned a lot too."

After a long moment, he swallows hard and pulls back. Gripping her upper arms, he looks into her eyes and promises, "You'll find that guy, Hannah. I know you will. You deserve it."

She smiles and reaches in for another hug. "It's nice to hear someone say that."

"You deserve it," he repeats. He squeezes her for a long moment, wondering if this really is the end to their ten long months together, if it's the end to a wonderful romance that started halfway around the world in a warzone. He's struck with a pang of loss and knows that the parting will be bittersweet. He wishes he could fix it all without hurting her or Bones. Without hurting anyone.

"So," she says, pulling away. Clearing her throat, she stands. "I should get packing. I don't have much to pack anyway. Didn't come with much and won't leave with much." She smiles, but he can see it's forced. "I should be out of your hair by morning."

He reaches up to catch her wrist before she can move. "Stay." He looks up at her, at her surprised expression, and clarifies, "Stay at least until morning. I'm not such a bastard that I'd make you get out at the drop of a hat. Take your time. I want—I _need_ to make it up to you." He tries for a smile and gets the feeling he fails miserably, judging by the wry smile on Hannah's face. "I'll take the couch; you take the bed. I'll make you breakfast in the morning, and I'll help you pack afterwards. Okay?"

She seems relieved that he insists. They both need time to absorb what's happened, he realizes. A good, long night of sleep will do them both wonders; it'll calm down emotions made sharper by night and weariness, and it'll give them clear heads to think out the next step. Nothing can be done now, not while they're tired and reeling from what's happened between them in the past twenty minutes.

So he smiles tiredly and releases her wrist. "Get some sleep, okay? And sleep in too. No need to hurry."

She smiles back, and they hold each other's gazes in the dark. Her eyes are sad—he can bet his are too—but they're calm at the same time. At peace. They've let their feelings out, for better or for worse, and it's made honest people of them. Now all they can do is wait, wait and hope. Hope for better days, for friendly partings, for the right people to come along. Or, in his case, for the right person to come back.

"Good night, Seeley," she says finally, giving him a last smile before disappearing into the bedroom.

"Good night," he whispers softly after her with a quiet sigh. Then, closing his eyes, he stretches out on the couch, his thoughts scattering in the dark, flitting here and there but always, always returning to the beautiful scientist with blue eyes and a gorgeous smile he's been loving for almost seven years.

* * *

**Come on. I know you guys have thoughts. Leave a review!**


	7. The Restart in the Relationship

**I'm so sorry for the delay, guys. I know it's been a while. It's just that school has been hectic and I've been suffering from a horrible case of writer's block. But it's better now, hopefully. **

**As always, thank you so much for the reviews. I'm sorry I didn't reply to the reviews from last chapter, but I promise I'll start replying again. I know all of you are so happy about Hannah leaving :)**

**Disclaimer: Yes, of course I own Bones...Does anyone believe me? **

* * *

**The Restart in the Relationship**

He doesn't think he's ever been more excited—or nervous—to come to work. He's jittery and his nerves are frayed from his bittersweet parting with Hannah this morning. He'd made her breakfast, helped her pack, and they'd sat on his couch for half an hour reminiscing about the good times. It had been painful, but he remembers it fondly now. He knows his parting with Hannah was for the best, because a woman like her deserves everything he can't give her. And now he's taking the stairs up to the Jeffersonian building three at a time, his heart thudding evenly in his chest.

What to say, what to say? He'll tell her straight off he's broken up with Hannah. He'll tell her straight off so he won't chicken out, and she'll—

She'll what? Welcome him with open arms? He'll have better luck convincing her the world is flat.

No, no, no, he'll just act casual. It'll be fine that way. Bones's the type of person you ease things into; spring a surprise on her and she'll be on a plane to Australia before he can blink. Yes, he should just act casual. Maybe he should have bought her coffee. Yeah, coffee would've been good. Maybe donuts, a bagel or two.

He sighs, hands in his pockets. He's starting to realize the truth of things: that breaking up with Hannah was the easy part. It's everything that comes after that'll be the challenge. Bones…God, he's scared of what she'll say. Terrified even. It's been almost a year since she turned him down that night after Sweets' meeting, and he wonders if anything's changed with her at all. He's not so blindly optimistic as to believe Bones has changed her mind. He's lucky if she'll even look at him the same. But maybe…if he has enough time…

"You going in?"

Surprised, he turns to find Angela standing behind him, a coffee balanced in one hand and files in the other.

She eyes his blank stare amusedly and repeats, "You going in? Or are you just going to stand out here? 'Cause it's kind of cold."

He realizes he's blocking the door and moves to the side hurriedly. "Oh, sorry. Here, let me get that." He takes her files and pulls the door open for her.

She thanks him and moves inside, Booth on her heels. He wonders if there's a right way to go about this. Should he ask Angela? She's Bones's best friend anyway, and she'd probably know how to break the news.

And yet…

And yet Angela has a hard time keeping things about him and Bones quiet. He doesn't think he's quite prepared for everyone within a ten mile radius to ask him about Hannah and what happened and why isn't she staying at least for Christmas. He doesn't think he's prepared for even Bones to know.

He stops. Thinks for a moment.

_Is_ he ready for Bones to know?

Why shouldn't he be? Isn't this the point of breaking up with Hannah? Isn't this what he's been subconsciously waiting for all this time, ever since he returned to Washington?

And yet, is it too soon? He's freshly emerged from a ten-month long, emotionally invested relationship. Is he ready to be committed to someone else again so soon?

With a sigh, he heads for Bones' office anyway, thinking he can always figure things out on the way. He'll wing it, and if a moment comes up, he'll take it. Until then, he figures it's better silent than sorry.

There she is, sitting behind her desk reviewing some files spread across the table in front of her. She's wearing that green top that makes her eyes pop and those jeans that show off just how long her legs are. Jeez, it should be absolutely illegal to show off your curves like that.

Instinctively, he shuts those thoughts off, shaking his head. It's a moment before he realizes that he has every right to think those things about Bones without feeling guilty. He's no longer bound to Hannah in any way beyond friends, so why _shouldn't_ he be thinking these things about his gorgeous partner?

_Because that inevitably leads to you wanting to kiss her, and that never ends well,_ he chides himself, shaking away his more impulsive side. Plastering on a wide smile, he raps his knuckles on the doorframe and walks inside.

Bones looks up for a brief moment before dropping her eyes to her files again. "Hey, Booth."

Her voice is cool, collected, and detached. He pauses in surprise, his brow furrowing. It's been a long time since he's heard her so emotionless toward him, and his mind races back to figure out why. Was it something he said? Something he did? Something he _didn't_ do?

_Or all three,_ he thinks with a pang of guilt, remembering the day before. Remembering how he'd been the king of jerks toward her.

With a sigh, he pulls the chair on the opposite side of her desk around to the side of her desk and sits down heavily. "Listen, Bones, can we talk for a second?"

He waits for her to raise her eyes, but she doesn't. Instead, she continues to scan her files like she hadn't heard him at all.

"Bones?" he repeats, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm listening," she says coolly, still not looking at him.

He swallows the automatic rush of annoyance at being ignored and covers the page she's reading with his hand. "Bones. Please. It's important."

She sighs impatiently and leans back in her chair, looking up at him at last. "All right."

He swallows. "Listen, I'm sorry. For being such a jerk yesterday, I mean. It's just…I was really scared about Parker, and I couldn't believe he'd be that irresponsible after everything I'd taught him. I was taking out my anger on you, and it wasn't right. I should never have yelled at you like that."

After a long moment, her eyes soften, and she shakes her head. "It was nothing, Booth. Your anger was understandable."

"I still shouldn't have yelled at you," he insists. "Don't ever let me yell at you like that again, okay? Don't ever let me do something you don't like. Just…just slap me or something."

"I doubt that would have the desired effect," Bones replies, a wry smile spreading slowly across her face. "You'd probably get even angrier."

"Slap me hard," he says, offering her a weak grin in return. "And tell me I'm acting stupid and like a jerk, and I'll stop. I promise."

Their eyes catch for a long moment, and it's one of _those_ looks. The ones that say everything he's not brave enough to voice out loud, things like _You're gorgeous_ and _I still love you._ He likes to imagine her eyes say things too, but they're always filled with such a myriad of emotions that he has trouble separating them. He wonders if she's doing the same thing when they share these looks, if she's telling him things he hasn't been open enough to see.

"Yeah," she says at last. "I will. Next time."

He smiles in relief because her voice has warmed, and it feels more normal between them again. And suddenly, he feels like it's the perfect time to break the news, so he leans forward a bit nervously in his seat and says, "Bones, I have something to tell you."

She nods. "Is this important too, or can I listen and work at the same time?"

He debates for a moment before answering, "You can work. I'll talk." He doesn't want to look into her eyes as he tells her, afraid of what he'll see there (acceptance? denial? joy?). Instead, he focuses on his hands as she refocuses on her papers. "So last night I—"

A rapping on the door interrupts his train of thought, and they both look up. Instantly, Booth's on his feet before he's even conscious of it, automatically angling his body to shield Bones from view.

"You," he says, his voice tight. "What are you doing here?"

It's the man from the bar, the one who'd bruised Bones up and broken her wrist. The instant he sets eyes on the guy, Booth narrows his eyes, and his hackles raise. What the _hell_ is that guy doing at the Jeffersonian?

The man—Fred Knowles, Booth remembers—raises his hands in a peace gesture and says, "Hey, man, I'm not looking for trouble here."

"Then tell me what you _are_ looking for," Booth growls back. Behind him, Bones tries to shift in her chair to see around him, but he steps in front of her again, uneasy with Knowles getting even a glimpse of her.

"Calm down, man," Knowles says, reaching into his jacket pocket. Booth automatically tenses, his hand reaching for his gun, but the other man just withdraws an envelope.

"Terms of the sentence," Knowles explains. "Written and verbal apology."

"Oh." Moving too quickly for Booth to intercept, Bones rises and steps in front of him, moving toward Knowles. Booth lets out an exasperated huff before going to stand directly behind her, ready to shove her out of the way if need be.

Knowles sighs and rubs a hand through his hair. "So I'm sorry about breaking your wrist and giving you all those bruises. I was drunk and stupid and angry. I shouldn't have overreacted like that. You offered valid points, and I should try to be more considerate to my girlfriend. Well, _ex_-girlfriend now. Next time, I'll stop and work any conflicts out with words rather than fists."

"Wow," Booth says dryly. "You script that?"

Knowles even manages a sheepish grin. "Yeah. Memorized it before coming here."

He seems genuinely sorry, and when he looks closer, Booth can see the generally good man underneath. Knowles isn't such a bad character, he thinks, studying him. He cleans up pretty well, and he manages to look repentant. He even tries for a real apology rather than some BS another guy might have come up with. Maybe, minus the drink and the fact that he broke Bones' wrist, he could be a decent guy.

Bones seems to come to the same conclusion. "Thank you for the apology," she says graciously, taking the envelope. "I appreciate it, and I…I suppose I owe you an apology as well for getting into your business like that. I shouldn't have been eavesdropping, and I shouldn't have gotten involved in something that didn't regard me. I'm sorry for any injuries I might have given you as well."

He smiles ruefully. "You got a good punch; my jaw was aching for a week afterwards."

Despite himself, Booth can't help but swell a little in pride. "She's good, isn't she?"

Knowles shakes his head and looks at him. "Sorry about being a jerk at the police station. I was still drunk. Not that that's any excuse."

_No, it isn't any excuse,_ Booth thinks, remembering long days with his father. Shaking away the thoughts, he says anyway, "It's okay. I wasn't too friendly either."

After a moment, Knowles holds out his hand to Bones. "Peace then?"

She shakes it with a smile. "Yes. Peace."

"You too, man."

Booth takes his outstretched hand and shakes it for a moment before letting go. "Don't go getting into anymore bar fights," he says.

Knowles grins. "Thanks for the advice. I kind of already figured that one out myself, though."

Booth grins back and nods. After a quick, friendly goodbye, Knowles takes his leave, disappearing around the edge of the forensic platform. Booth and Bones stand in the doorway for a moment, looking after him.

"You know," he says suddenly, "you still haven't told me what you two fought about."

She turns away back toward her office, her eyes averted. "I told you already: he was acting aggressive toward his girlfriend, and I thought he'd hit her."

Brow furrowed, he returns to his seat and frowns. "Maybe. But that's not all of it, was it? There's a bigger picture to this."

"It's a very small picture, Booth." Her tone is exasperated, but she doesn't meet his eyes, which means he's right. But about _what_ exactly?

"Come on, Bones," he sighs. "It can't have been _that_ bad. Just tell me what it was about, and I'll quit bugging you."

"You bug me anyway," she mutters. "It's over, Booth. It was a long time ago."

"Not _that_ long," he argues. "There's still physical evidence. Your cast, I mean."

"Which I get off this week. Booth, just let it go. It wasn't such a big deal anyway."

_Yes, it is,_ he thinks. It's a huge deal that he has to drive out in the middle of the night to keep his partner—his rule-abiding, careful partner—from getting _arrested_ for a bar fight. God, it sounds ridiculous even in his head.

"Bones…"

She looks straight at him for the first time, her eyes narrowed. "Booth…"

"Yeah?"

"At this point, I would slap you, but I think that would be a bit extreme."

Oh. He gets the hint. It's too early in his patched-up relationship with Bones to even _think_ of pushing her. One wrong move, and she'll be glaring daggers at him for the rest of the week. All right. He knows when to back off.

But it's not the end of it. Oh no, he'll drag the truth out of Bones one way or another.

* * *

Two days later, they're sitting in Sweets' office on their couch, close but not touching. He misses the days that he could lean into Bones with fear of rejection, but he decides it's too early to risk something like that again. One, because she might still be sort of mad at him for snapping at her about Parker. Two, because he doesn't think he'll be able to stop at _leaning_ if he starts to touch her. His self control is already doubtful as it is.

Booth looks at Sweets skeptically. "Are you sure about this?"

The psychologist stares back. "If I wasn't, would I suggest it?"

"I think Booth is concerned because the last time we played this game, I decided I wanted a baby," Brennan sticks in helpfully.

Booth raises an eyebrow, as if that completely proves his point. "Yeah, that's pretty much the gist of it. Let's not risk that again."

"I think Booth means that although he doesn't mind me having a baby, he doesn't want me to come to the conclusion in the midst of something so flippant as a game," Brennan explains. Booth resists the urge to roll his eyes.

Sweets raises an eyebrow. "Are you the psychologist or am I, Doctor Brennan?"

Bones gives him a skeptical look. "Is that a serious question?"

Shaking his head, Booth chuckles. "He's just put out because it seems like you're doing his job for him, Bones."

"How?" She seems genuinely mystified.

"You're explaining what you think Agent Booth means," Sweets says patiently. "It's my job to be analyzing your words, Doctor Brennan."

Bones opens her mouth, then closes it again. After a moment of consideration, she says, "I see your point. I will refrain from doing your job for you."

"Thank you."

"Although, admittedly, I _can_ perform your job reasonably well, which indicates that it isn't particularly hard."

Despite himself—despite his mood—Booth laughs. Bones has a way of doing that with him. "I think she just insulted your degree, Sweets."

Sweets manages a pained smile. Booth can see that he's learned long ago to roll with the punches and the unintentional verbal slurs Bones throws out. The young doctor's also learned that he'll get nowhere with arguing with her, so he just moves on with the topic. Smart kid.

"So," he says, clearing his throat, "the responsive exercise."

Leaning back on the couch and lacing his fingers behind his head, Booth sighs. "Let's humor the kid, Bones."

"I'm not a kid," Sweets says, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his voice. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't treat me like one."

"Alright, I'm willing to humor him," Brennan agrees, which makes Sweets groan and clearly wish he'd never brought the game up in the first place.

Booth glances at Bones. "I'm not starting with hungry this time."

"I have no intentions of having a baby," she assures him, which doesn't really assure him.

He thinks for a moment. "Umm…okay, tired."

"Sleep."

"Dreams."

"Sex."

He'd known. He'd just _known _this would get weird. "Whoa!"

"Horse."

"Uh, saddle."

"Leather."

"Costume."

"Costume?" She pauses, her brow furrowing in confusion. "I don't see the correlation."

"You're not supposed to," Sweets interjects.

Booth explains anyway. "I was just thinking of that Wonder Woman thing you have going on at Halloween." Ooh, bad train of thought. His mouth is starting to go dry at the mental image of her in tight leather. God, _get a grip, Seeley. _

"Oh." Bones thinks for a moment before saying, "Glasses."

He has no idea where that came from, but he'll go with it. "Squints."

"Me."

"Bones."

"Me."

"Temperance."

"Me."

He looks at her, exasperated. "You aren't making this very easy."

"All those words make me think of me," Bones reasons innocently.

"It's fine," Sweets says. "Keep going."

Rolling his eyes, Booth sighs. "Okay…scientist."

"Me." And then, at his frustrated glare, she says instead, "FBI."

Okay, she's given him something to work with. He thinks for a moment before saying, "Partners."

"Booth."

"Agent."

"Booth."

"Father."

"Booth."

"You're doing this on purpose!" Booth complains, shooting her an accusatory glare.

She gives him her innocent look, which he's learned usually means she isn't innocent. "What?"

"Repeating things," he grumbles. "You're making this hard for me on purpose." He pauses, then asks anxiously, "Are you still mad at me?"

She shakes her head quickly. "No. Of course not."

"Mad at you?" Sweets repeats, clearly interested. He leans forward in his seat. "About what? Did something happen?"

Both of them shake their heads vehemently. Despite their problems, despite everything, this is one conversation they are _not_ having with Sweets. Too personal, too private. This is between him and Bones and him and Bones alone. They'll work it out. They already _are_ working it out, from what he's understanding. Here, sitting in Sweets' office with the quiet banter, he feels almost normal again. Almost like the partners they used to be.

_And still are_, he reminds himself firmly. _Like the partners we still are._

"You guys…" Sweets prompts.

"Let's keep going with the game," Booth suggests brightly, pretending he doesn't notice Sweets' sharpened gaze. "Annoying."

"Psychologists," Bones replies promptly.

Eyeing Sweets' indignant expression, Booth stifles the sniggers and says, "Sweets."

"Candy."

"Uh…Parker."

"Family."

"Husband."

"Boyfriend."

"Girlfriend."

"Hannah."

And he stops, pauses for a split second. In that moment, he sees his opening, the one he's been searching for, for almost three days now. Taking a breath, he musters his courage and blurts out before he chickens out, "Breakup."

Immediately, Bones and Sweets shoot him confused looks, and he clarifies in a rush, "Hannah and I broke up three days ago. We're over. She went back to New York to be with her family."

There—it's out. Thank God. Confessing _that_ truth was almost as stressful as confessing to Hannah that he still loves Bones. Almost _more_ stressful, because declaring his breakup has opened doors—doors he isn't sure Bones will take. Doors he's terrified she won't take.

Swallowing, he sneaks a look over to Bones, hoping to assess her reaction. She looks right back at him, her brow furrowed and her blue eyes muddled with confusion. Other than that, he can't read anything from her expression. Damn, is she good at hiding what she feels or what?

"What do you mean?" she asks slowly, after a long, pregnant silence.

He swallows. "What else could I mean? We broke up. It's over, for good."

"I—It's _over?"_ Sweets stammers, leaning forward in his chair. "That quickly? What happened?"

Booth shrugs. "We realized it wasn't right for us. You were right in the end, Sweets. Our relationship started adrenaline-packed and sort of died down after a while." He tries to sound flippant about it, but he can see that Sweets guesses it wasn't so easy. Bones, however, says nothing.

He glances at her, brow furrowing. "Bones?"

She looks back at him. "Yeah?"

"What? No thoughts?" He hadn't expected her to be outright happy about it, or sad, but he'd expected at least _some_ emotion. Not this carefully blank façade he faces, a mask he's sure is hiding something deeper. But what?

"Thoughts?" she repeats, like he's speaking another language. "I'm sorry your relationship with Hannah is over, Booth. It seemed to make you happy since you spent so much time with her. But it was your choice to end it, so I don't see why that affects me."

"Don't see why that—" Booth echoes, staring at her. God, sometimes she's so dense he wonders if a nuclear bomb would be able to punch a hole through her obliviousness. _It affects you because I'm still head over heels in love with you,_ he thinks in exasperation. That's_ why._ But he doesn't say it out loud. He isn't brave enough, and it's too soon. He wants to have time to gauge her feelings too, to see if anything has changed since the last year. To see if maybe she'll take that step with him this time, when he asks.

"I think," Sweets says hastily, clearly sensing Booth's frustration, "that since you two are close friends, Booth feels like this would matter to you a little more. Evoke a more emotional response, I mean." The psychologist directs a knowing look over at him, one that makes Booth a bit uneasy. One that says _this friends thing is total bullcrap and you know it. _Just how much does Sweets know in the end? And just how much is Sweets willing to reveal?

Whatever it is, it's a little too much for Booth's liking. Sweets on an experiment hasn't boded well before, what with Bones socking him in the face at his own funeral. Struck by the sudden horrible vision of Sweets engineering some love experiment on him and Bones, Booth stands hurriedly and mutters, "I really have a ton of paperwork to do. So I'll see you next week, Sweets?"

"No, we still have twenty—"

"I'm quite busy as well," Bones says, rising too. "Next week, regular time, Sweets."

"You don't have to remind me," Sweets grumbles. He slumps back in his chair, clearly resigned. "That's right, guys, just walk out on me whenever you feel like it."

Bones grins in surprise. "Look, Booth, he gave us permission."

"No, Doctor Brennan, that wasn't what I was trying to—"

"Yeah, you gave us permission, Sweets," Booth calls back, holding the door open for Bones. "See you later."

The door swings shut on a still-protesting Sweets, and Booth walks with Bones to the end of the hallway. On the way out of the building, Booth's hand drifts to settle in its customary spot in the small of Bones' back. He realizes with a jolt that it's actually been a long, long time since he's laid a guiding hand on her back, and by her furtive glance, she knows it too. God, he's missed touching her. Even little, innocent touches like these. He's missed _her,_ seeing Bones without any distractions, touching her without feeling guilty.

"I'll head back to the lab," Bones says, opening her car door.

Booth, parked beside her, opens the passenger door of the SUV and offers, "Hop in. I'll give you a ride."

She eyes him skeptically. "I thought you had a ton of paperwork to do. Which, of course, is realistically impossible, but I assume you know that."

Despite himself, he chuckles, shaking his head. Some things truly never change; Bones' sometimes endearing, sometimes frustrating literality is one of those things. "Yeah, I know that. I just have to run to the Jeffersonian to pick up some files anyway, so I thought I'd drive you."

With a shrug, she shuts her car door again and climbs into the SUV. With a grin, he closes the door and crosses over to slide into the driver's seat.

It's been a while since she rode with him, Booth realizes. So long that her smell has faded from the passenger seat, so long that he's forgotten she likes to look out the window in a way that makes her eyes glow in the sunlight and her hair shine. God, how many things has he forgotten of his gorgeous partner? Things he should never forget, because they're important. Because they're _Bones._

"Let's get dinner tonight," he says suddenly. "At the Royal Diner. It's been a while since we went out together."

She looks at him, clearly startled. At that widening of her eyes, that disbelieving look, guilt and dismay streak through him like fire. Has it really been so long that she's this surprised by his offer? Has he really been so bad about keeping up with her? Damn it. He'd _promised_ himself to look after her more closely after that bar incident, and now, _again,_ he can't remember the last time he took her out to eat, just the two of them. How many times can he screw up before something happens he can't fix?

"Please," he says, when she doesn't answer immediately. "Let's be us again, Bones. Let's have dinner."

It comes out more pleading than he intended, but it's true—he _is_ begging. He needs this more than he knows. He needs to know they're okay, that after Hannah's departure, they can go back to how it was before they left for a year. Maybe—just _maybe_—if they can get back to that time, they can go forward again and try for a different outcome. Maybe if they can find that friendship again, that easy companionship, she'll take the leap with him this time if he asks her. She'll let him be that guy.

Finally, she nods, her expression unreadable. "Okay. I have some things I have to finish at the Jeffersonian, but afterwards, we can go to dinner."

He lets out a sigh he didn't even know he was holding, a sigh of relief and happiness. "Okay. Great. I'll pick you up later?"

She nods, and they ride the rest of the way to the Jeffersonian in silence.

* * *

She breathes a long sigh of relief when she makes it to her office without trembling once. Mechanically, she shuts the door, takes off her coat, and sits down behind her desk. Only when she's settled and safe from prying eyes does she finally allow herself to think.

Booth is single. Booth broke up with Hannah. Booth is doing all those things that once made her shiver and somehow still do. It's been so long since he laid a hand on her back like that, or asked her to dinner, and scientifically, she should have become accustomed to that. Any attraction she felt toward him should have faded. But it hasn't. She still has to swallow hard whenever Booth brushes his fingers along her arm, whenever he even _looks_ at her. She still gets irrationally excited when he asks her to dinner, even if it's strictly between friends.

_Damn _it. What's wrong with her? She's never been irrational before. She's never met something she couldn't break down with logic and careful reasoning. But Booth…_damn him_…So many years with him has only confused her more. She doesn't think she's any closer to puzzling out the mystery of her partner than the day she met him. Why—_why_—did he have to come and make her..._love_ him and then leave her? And then he goes and kisses her and leaves her a mess again, and has his girlfriend call her the next morning and let slip that he'd had a _late night._ And then, while her head's still whirling with anger and confusion, he breaks up with Hannah, and she's supposed to feel…what? _What_ is she supposed to feel? Happy? Relieved? Sad for him? She's so drained, so tired. She just wants to stop the chaos of emotions in her. She just wants to be herself again.

Her office door swings open, and she jumps in her seat, scrambling for a neutral expression. Angela freezes in the doorway, obviously catching Brennan's hasty transition from weary to dispassionate. Brennan curses inwardly as she sees the flicker of worry flash across Angela's face. She can feel a girl talk coming on, and she doesn't know if she can take it.

"Sweetie?" Angela asks worriedly, walking in and shutting the door behind her. "Are you okay?"

Brennan nods. "Yes," she says, much more brightly than she thought she'd be capable of. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Why wouldn't you be?" Angela echoes, sitting down quickly in the chair opposite from her. "Because for a second there, you looked like you were about to cry."

"I was _not_ about to cry." She shuffles some papers from one side of her desk to the other without meeting Angela's eyes, even though she knows it weakens her assertion. Even so, she can't bring herself to meet Angela's gaze. She knows Angela will be looking at her in that way she has, that look full of sympathy and concern, a look that Brennan doesn't think she can take without spilling it all—all her confusion and anger and hurt. So she stares fixedly at the papers on her desk and tries to ignore Angela's gaze boring into the side of her face.

"Sweetie…" Angela warns. "Don't lie to me. You know it isn't good to keep things in."

Brennan forces a smile. "I'm not keeping anything in, Angela. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

Angela looks at her with a hard stare. "Bren. I've been your friend for God knows how long, and I know when something's bothering you. Tell me."

"There's nothing wrong," Brennan tries again, opening a file. "I'm fine."

Angela's eyes narrow and she threatens, "Tell me or I'll get Booth to come down and drag the truth out of you."

_Booth._ She can't. She just can't face him, not yet. Before she can stop it, panic flashes across her face, and she blurts out, "Don't! Don't call Booth. I can't—"

She cuts off abruptly, eyes widening in horror as she realizes how close she'd been to slipping. Angela's eyes widen too, and she says quickly, "Oh God, sweetie, did you and Booth have a fight?"

Brennan shakes her head hurriedly and says, "It's nothing, Angela. Forget I—"

"_Forget?"_ Angela repeats. Brennan's head snaps up at the anger in the artist's voice. Angela's eyes are snapping, and her mouth pressed in a thin line. "Bren, I'm not going to _forget_ anything. You're my best friend, and I love you like a sister. Every time you tell me you're _fine_, I know you aren't. I know you just say that so people will stop trying to pry deeper, even though you _need_ people to pry deeper. You need someone to help. You can't handle everything yourself, Bren. You can let other people help you."

"No," she answers bitingly, before she can stop herself, "you can't depend on other people, Angela. They always leave you in the end."

For a moment, they both freeze in a shocked silence. Brennan stares hard at the paper in front of her without reading it, her breath caught in her throat. She _couldn't_ have said that aloud…she _couldn't_ have…

"Bren," Angela says, very quietly, her voice suddenly gentle, "I'd never leave you. I never have. I thought you could trust me."

"I do. I _do_ trust you. And you haven't left me."

It takes Angela a moment to realize the implications, and when she does, she sucks in a quiet breath. "Bren, who do you think left you?"

She's already said too much. She can't bare any more of herself, not even to her best friend. Not when she feels so fragile and emotional.

"Angela, please," she says, staring determinedly at her desk. "I can't…Please."

It's hardly an eloquent plea, or even a coherent one, but Angela knows, as she usually does. She stands silently and reaches over to touch Brennan's hand.

"Bren, you're not alone," she says firmly. "I don't know what's going on with you, but whatever it is, you don't have to go it alone. You have friends."

Brennan swallows but doesn't look up. "I know. I just…I know."

She hears Angela move toward the door and a moment later, it closes behind her with a quiet click. She takes deep breaths for a long minute, knowing that she only has a few hours before Booth comes to pick her up for dinner. Only a few hours to get herself together, to push everything she feels behind a façade of friendliness so he'll never know how much he affects her.

Booth has broken up with Hannah. Booth has started to reach out to her again. But somehow, inexplicably, she feels worse than ever.

* * *

**Reviews keep the writer's block monster at bay...**


	8. The Fight in the Food

**Thank you for your support, as always. Kind of short, but a step in the right direction. **

**Disclaimer: Bones is...you guessed it. Not mine. **

* * *

**The Fight in the Food**

"So the victim, Henry Tell, was killed by blunt force trauma to the back of his head," Brennan explains, pointing to the spot on her own head to demonstrate. "Hodgins determined that the weapon was a thin but strong metal pole of some sort. Maybe the pole of golf club or a metal rod. I was thinking that perhaps his college friends were involved, especially the ones involved in the university golf association—"

"Bones," Booth breaks in suddenly, "do we really _have_ to talk about work?"

She swallows. _Yes, because I don't think I can speak about anything else objectively. _Aloud, she asks with forced confusion, "What else would we talk about?"

She's not so imperceptive that she misses the flash of pain in his eyes, there and gone in an instant. "We can talk about things outside of work, Bones," he says. "Like we used to."

There's something in the way he says _like we used to_ that makes her think he misses those days with a fierce longing. Several times during their dinner, she's caught him with a gloomy expression, like something isn't turning out the way he wants it to. She's afraid, for a moment, that it's her. Maybe he hasn't spent time with her for so long that he doesn't enjoy her company anymore. Maybe he misses Hannah's company. When has she become a burden he must bear? The thought sends a pang of hurt through her, even though her theory is wholly unfounded. There's no real reason she should think that Booth doesn't enjoy her companionship. There's no indication that he wants to leave, and occasionally, a very real Booth smile spreads across his face. But these moments are few and far between, and Brennan wonders what broke between them that makes their interaction so stilted now. Longing rises in her too, longing for the good old days when things were so easy between them.

"How are you doing?" he asks after a long pause. "Are you sleeping okay?"

She nods. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know. It's just…well, you used to get those nightmares, remember? Do you still get them?"

He remembers? He remembers the time she told him about the trouble she had sleeping after the Gravedigger case?

"Of course not," she says, even though she still does sometimes. "It's been a long time."

He looks down at the table and nods. "I still get nightmares sometimes, you know," he says quietly. "About everything. The Gravedigger. Sometimes it's Pam Nunan. Whatever it is, you always get hurt. I can never save you."

_Dreams reflect reality,_ she thinks. What does that mean? That Booth is afraid of losing her? That he _is_ losing her? She warms a little, knowing that Booth still values their relationship enough to fear losing it.

"That's to be expected," she says evenly. "We work in dangerous careers, Booth. Of course you're having nightmares."

He rolls his eyes and sticks a French fry in his mouth. "I don't think that's the point. It's normal to have nightmares since we have high-risk jobs, I know. But I can't _save_ you, Bones. Ever." He manages a small smile, but his eyes are serious.

What on earth is she supposed to say? She shrugs and offers hesitantly, "You always save me in real life, Booth. When it counts."

He sighs. "I guess." He ducks his head and runs a hand through his hair nervously, and she wonders what he's nervous about. "Never mind. Let's talk about something else."

_Gladly,_ she thinks. "Cam also ascertained that the victim had been drinking heavily before his death, so that supports the theory—"

"_Bones._" Booth sighs and looks at her almost pleadingly. "Please, can't we talk about something else?"

"Like what?"

"Anything. Something normal, something that has nothing to do with our jobs." He looks away from her for a moment before his eyes light up. "How are your nieces?"

Brennan frowns at the sudden change in subject but answers readily, "They're fine. They're both doing very well in school. Emma is apparently interested in biology."

Booth smiles briefly. "That's good. Following in your footsteps, huh?"

She opens her mouth automatically to reply that anthropology is unrelated to biology, but opts for a more oblivious approach. She wants to see that smile of his again. So, innocently, she answers, "No. She's never walked behind me."

His smile comes and stays longer this time. "You know what I meant."

"I don't think I do."

"Come on, Bones," he says, leaning back in his chair. "If there's one thing I've learned about you in all this time, it's that you usually aren't as clueless as you look."

"I'm…not sure if that's a compliment or an insult," she says slowly.

He laughs, a real laugh this time. "Compliment, Bones. I'd never insult you."

"Except for every time you remind me about my lack of social skills—"

"Which have improved, I admit—"

"—and the times you remind me about how I shot you—"

"Well, _yeah_, I think that deserves an insult or two. I mean, it _hurt_."

She frowns. "But that was years ago! I think it's extreme to hold a grudge over something so small for such a long time."

He stares at her. "Bones. You _shot_ me. As in, there was a _bullet_ in my leg."

"The bullet exited!"

"That's not the point!" He glares at her, but it's got an edge of humor to it. It's that look he gets in his eyes when he teases her. "The point is, it's not a small thing. I have every right to hold a grudge over it."

"It's all healed," she protests. "It's not even worth remembering."

"Getting shot by my own _partner_ isn't worth remembering?" Booth repeats, his eyes going wide in mock-disbelief. "There's too _much_ stuff to remember about that! Like how I was limping around for weeks, and how—"

She reaches across the table to his tray, picks up a handful of fries, and stuffs them in his mouth. She's always wanted to do that, shut someone up with food, and to her surprise and delight, it works. Booth stares at her, shocked, the fries effectively gagging him. He just looks so dumbfounded that she grins. And then giggles. And then full out _laughs_, laughs like she hasn't laughed with him in a long, long time. Laughs like she hasn't laughed with _anyone_ in a long time. She laughs until her sides ache, until Booth suddenly unfreezes from his surprise and stuffs his own handful of fries into her mouth. It's her turn to stare in astonishment at him, and he snorts at her expression, choking on the fries in the process. He grabs his glass of water and chokes down the food, letting out a loud gasp as his mouth clears. She's still frozen, and he bursts out into loud laughter.

"Your expression," he gasps between laughs. Her indignant glare sets him off again, making him gasp for breath right up until the moment she picks up a fry and hurls it at him. Stopping mid-chuckle, he stares incredulously at her, like she's suddenly announced her decision to quit anthropology.

"Did you just throw a French fry at me?" he asks, eyes wide.

She looks at him challengingly, eyebrow raised. "So what if I did?"

In response, he grabs a handful of fries and flings them at her. With a surprised cry, she ducks and chucks ketchup packets in his direction. And then their table becomes a maelstrom of condiments and flying French fries. Brennan lets out a shriek of laughter as Booth upends the entire carton of fries over her, and he leaps back with an exclamation when she squirts the mustard bottle in his direction. Their drinks topple and spill onto the floor and onto Booth's lap, which makes him curse and look down. It gives her enough time to hurl a handful of pepper at him, making him sneeze violently. When they exhaust those resources, their eyes track back and forth hurriedly for new ammunition and they lunge simultaneously for the salt shaker.

She manages to grab the container first, but Booth's hand is on hers before she can use it. He's warm, warm, warm as he tries to wrestle the salt shaker out of her grip, but she stubbornly holds on, sticking her tongue out at him. His eyes dart immediately down her lips, and his grip slackens enough for her to yank the salt shaker back triumphantly.

"That's not fair!" he whines. "I was distracted!"

Laughing victoriously, she shakes out salt all over his suit, taking advantage of his surprise. He scrambles back with a curse, glaring at her, but his eyes are smiling, smiling, smiling in that way that has her laughing too. Laughing until she can't breathe, laughing until the waitress and the manager of the diner rush over and demand that they pay for the wasted food and leave immediately. Still chuckling, Booth and Brennan brush themselves off as best as they can, and Brennan quickly shoves fifty dollars at them to cover the costs, not caring that she's overpaying. Then, leaning on each other and laughing, they exit the diner.

"Whew," Booth says, once he's caught his breath. "I haven't had that much fun in a really long time."

"Me neither," Brennan agrees. Looking down at her shirt, which has ketchup stains and pepper sprinkles smeared down the front, she adds, "I guess it was worth it."

Booth looks down at his own suit, mustard-stained and rumpled, and chuckles. "I needed a new suit anyway. Come on. Let's walk a little."

They stroll down the street, shoulders touching, and Brennan marvels in how quickly the tension has dissolved between them. Somehow, they've fallen back into that easy partnership of earlier times, when Hannah and a thousand other things didn't exist. A week ago, they were barely speaking. Now, they walk down the street with quiet smiles, and every once in a while, one of them spots the stains on the other's shirt and breaks out into sniggers, which has them wiping tears of laughter from their eyes again. It feels so good to laugh. To be with Booth without worries, without thinking about anything more.

They spend the next hour walking and talking about nothing at all, and it feels like the greatest hour she's ever spent. Soon, it grows dark and cold, and when Booth sees her shiver slightly, he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it around her. Even though it smells of mustard, even though giving her his jacket is consistent with his alpha male tendencies rather than real affection or concern, she doesn't say anything. His gesture is so much of the Booth she remembers (of the Booth she thinks she loved) that she _can't_ say anything. She can only grip his jacket warmly around herself and smile at him in thanks.

"So, Bones," Booth says, hands in his pants pockets as they walk. "You doing anything on Saturday?"

She pauses. "Yes. Some remains from Maluku should be arriving on Saturday, and I was hoping to spend the day going over them."

Booth shakes his head dismissively. "Those bones have been six feet under forever, Bones." She opens her mouth to correct him (the bones has not been buried six feet under, and forever was an extremely inaccurate term), but he raised his voice to speak over her. "You're not working this weekend. You're coming with me and Parker on a little trip."

A thrill shoots through her, at the firmness in his voice. It's almost like the old times again, when he used to forcibly drag her away from work regardless of any bones sitting on her forensic platform. She wants to agree immediately, since it's been so long since she and the Booth boys went anywhere together, but giving in so easily is out-of-character. So to preserve the feel of the old times, she protests, "I can't. I have work. History is in the making here, Booth."

But he must see that mischievous spark in her eyes, because he mock-glares at her and says, "You know, Bones, you work _way_ too much. Seriously. If you don't come with us, I swear, I will _drag_ you along if I have to handcuff you to the car door."

"That's hardly safe," she tells him. "There could be a fire, or a car accident, or any number of emergencies—"

"Oh, jeez, Bones, don't talk about stuff like that." He skips ahead a couple of steps and knocks on the nearest tree quickly.

She pauses. "Why did you do that?"

He stares at her. "Don't tell me you've never heard of that? You knock on wood to keep bad things from happening."

She snorts in disbelief. "That's one of the most absurd practices I've ever heard of. How could knocking on wood keep bad things from happening? Although traditionally, wood has been associated with magical powers in many cultures, it's mostly a pagan practice. I didn't think you'd believe in that, Booth."

"Wow." He stops walking and looks back at her. "Did you just turn my little charm against bad luck into a pagan belief?"

She looks back at him, confused. "What? I didn't turn anything into a pagan practice. I was just stating the facts."

He laughs quietly and shakes his head. "Okay, I take back my knock on the tree, if it makes you happy."

"Why would that make me happy? I was just—"

"Stating the facts. I know." He chuckles. "But when I get into a car accident, you're going to wish I did my little pagan belief thing on the tree."

She rolls her eyes. "I doubt it." But she smiles all the same because it's so familiar, teasing Booth and having him tease her back. It feels so…right. In a completely nonscientific, improvable way. But she can't deny the feeling, even if she can't find proof or reason for it.

"This is good," Booth says after a while, looking up at the stars as they walk. "Us like this, I mean. It's so normal, don't you think?"

"I'm glad," she agrees quietly. "I want it to be like before again, Booth. Before you went to Afghanistan and before I went to Maluku." Before, they had been aware of their attraction to each other—Booth had even taken a gamble on it—but they had found a reasonable balance between the professional partnership they had and the friendship they'd created. She wants it to be like that again, safely behind the line Booth drew once but still friends. Even if…even if she wanted more once, she's too guarded now to take the figurative leap. Maybe she never was prepared to take that leap, and maybe she'll never be. So she wants to be the friends and partners they were once. That's all.

He seems to be thinking along the same lines. "Why can't it be? Our partnership is what we make it, Bones. So why _can't_ it be like before? If we want it that way…all we have to do is change it ourselves."

_Change it ourselves._

He's right. He's completely right. It's not entirely their fault that their relationship ended up so strange, but they can change it now. They can make it like before, shape it again so it's familiar and _right_. What's stopping them?

Slowly, she smiles. "You're right. We should just be us again." It sounds so simple. She hopes it will be.

He grins happily. "Yeah. So you do your bones thing, I'll do the FBI thing, and we can be friends again like before. Lunch tomorrow?"

She smiles, a coil of excitement and warmth spreading through her. _Normal._ Like nothing ever happened to make them different. "Of course. Twelve-thirty like usual?"

"Like usual," he promises, grinning. He smiles quietly to her, then to himself. After a moment, he says, "So you're coming this Saturday, right?"

"Coming where?" she asks, walking so closely to him that their shoulders barely touch.

Booth shrugs. "Picnic? The zoo?"

"There's a new physics exhibit opening in the Jeffersonian," Brennan suggests brightly. "It has an interesting section on centripetal force and Kepler's laws of gravity."

He gives her a pained look. "No science, Bones."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're around science every day, that's why," he answers. "Let's get you out of Squintdom for at least a day. You know, normal world, normal things…"

She rolls her eyes and shrugs. "All right. I'll go. We can go where you want."

He beams at her (her heart skips a beat, but she ignores it) and says, "Great. Great." Then, after a moment of hesitation, he slings his arm around her shoulders. She flinches in surprise, and he starts to draw away, but she leans back into him before he releases her completely. He's so warm. This is one of the things she's missed the most: their physical closeness without awkwardness. If she needs a shoulder to literally lean on, Booth will lend it to her. It was like that before Maluku and Afghanistan, and she hopes it will be like that now.

It seems like they've already taken a step in the right direction.

* * *

"I think something's wrong with Brennan."

Sweets looks up in surprise to find Angela at the door, her expression worried. He actually has a ton of paperwork to finish, not to mention a patient coming in two minutes, but one look at her expression tells him it'd be better to listen. He isn't prepared—mentally or physically—to deal with Angela on a regular basis, never mind Angela on pregnancy hormones. So with a sigh, he pushes back the papers he'd been reviewing and sits back in his chair.

"Come in. Sit down."

She shuts the door behind herself and takes the seat across from him heavily. "I think something's wrong with Bren."

Sweets nods his head like he understands and says, "Please elaborate."

Angela sighs. "Well, she's been acting kind of off for a while, and yesterday, I caught her in her office looking like her dog had died."

"She doesn't have a—"

Angela waves her hand dismissively. "Well, let's say she had a dog. She looked like she watched someone run over her dog, then back up and run over it again."

Sweets stares at her. "That bad? She looked that bad? Was she crying?"

"No." Angela shakes her head. "It's Brennan we're talking about. She just looked a little teary-eyed."

"Oh." Well that wasn't nearly as bad or shocking as Doctor Brennan outright crying. But still, curious. "So what happened?"

"Well, she denied it, obviously. And then when I pressed her a little, she pretty much snapped at me. At _me._"

"At you," Sweets repeats uncomprehendingly. "Okay. So something's the matter with her. What?"

Angela shakes her head. "I don't know. But I am a hundred percent sure that it has something to do with Booth."

"Oh." He stops, runs a hand through his hair, and nods. "Of course." Something clicks in his head, and he exhales slowly. "_Oh,_ that makes so much more sense."

Angela seems to sense his realization. "What? What makes so much sense?"

"They had a session with me last week," he explains quickly. "Everything was going like normal when Agent Booth asked Doctor Brennan if she was still mad at him. I assumed they'd had an argument, and if Doctor Brennan is acting off, something _big_ must have happened."

By the time he reaches the last word, Angela's eyes are wide. "That's it: I have _complete_ proof. There is _nothing_ Bren can say to me now to stop me from digging out the truth. Something happened with Booth, and I intend to find out what."

"It might have something to do with Booth breaking up with Hannah," Sweets supplies helpfully. He still hasn't figured that one completely out. He's gone over and over their reactions and words in his head and can't figure out Booth's motives, or Brennan's feelings about it.

Freezing, Angela gapes at him, and he stares back, eyes wide. "What? You didn't know?"

"No." She shakes her head slowly, disbelievingly. "When?"

Sweets shrugs. "Sometime last week. Booth told Brennan in our session, and it didn't sound like Hannah had been gone very long. I got the feeling he expected Doctor Brennan to make a bigger deal about it, but she was very blasé about it all."

"Of _course_ she was blasé!" Angela exclaims. "That's how she handles things!" She shakes her head agitatedly and harrumphs. "That's probably what happened between them. Booth told her and she reacted the wrong way. Oh, what an awful mess. I have to talk to her."

She stands quickly and then just as suddenly staggers back, her arm thrown out to catch the back of the couch. Alarmed, Sweets leaps out of his seat and grabs her other arm, helping her sit back down even as she tries to wave him off.

"Are you okay?" he asks anxiously. "Do I need to call a doctor?"

She narrows her eyes at him. "It's just the baby kicking," she answers after a moment. "Nothing big."

"Okay." He releases her and raises his arms to ward off any more killer glares. "No need to get all testy."

Angela rolls her eyes. "It's just that you're acting just like Jack. If I so much as breathe funny, he wants me to get into the helicopter and fly to the hospital. If I so much as _breathe_ funny."

"Wow," Sweets says, because he isn't sure what else to say. He can hardly handle his own _car_, let alone a private helicopter on hand twenty-four seven. Jeez, life of the rich.

At that moment, his scheduled patient bursts into the room, eyes wild. "Doctor Sweets, I think the aliens are chewing through my—" He freezes mid-step at the sight of Angela on the couch and stammers, "Am I interrupting something?"

Sweets shakes his head hurriedly. "No, Amos, it's perfectly fine—"

"Oh my god, you're pregnant," Amos breathes, his eyes wide. "Did the aliens abduct you too?"

Angela stares blankly at him, and wide-eyed, Sweets mouths to her, "_Play along_," praying that the little encounter with Angela won't destroy the six months' work he's put into Amos.

Thankfully, she sighs dramatically and says, "Yes, actually. Last year."

Which has Sweets sighing in relief and gesturing for Amos to come closer. Which is the exact moment the door opens again to admit a hassled-looking Booth, followed by Doctor Brennan with her head buried in a file.

"Sweets!" Booth says, clapping his hands together. "Good, you're here. Come on, let's go."

He gapes at them for a moment before asking in confusion, "Did I forget we had a meeting?"

Booth shakes his head. "No, but we need you on the case. Come on."

Sweets stares at him, alternately outraged and flattered. Outraged that Booth seems to think he has no life beyond helping the two of them with their killers, flattered that Booth wants his help at all. And in between that, exasperated that they think they can just barge in here at any hour and yank him away from the _rest_ of his professional life outside of them and their partner problems.

"I have a _patient_," he hisses, glaring at them.

As expected Booth glances at Amos dismissively and says, "Whatever it is, I'm sure his problem can wait. We have a guy down in holding right now that really _can't_ wait."

"What can possibly be more important than—"

"Aha!"

Doctor Brennan's exclamation startles them all. She lowers the file with an excited gleam to her eye and explains, "All this time, we assumed that the blow entered from the torso and exited the back. However, if the killer struck the victim from _behind_, that would change the trajectory of the blow, making the killer approximately five foot four thrusting _upward_ rather than six foot one thrusting _downward._"

Booth beams. "Genius, Bones. Okay, so that's perfect, 'cause the guy we got down in holding, I'm willing to bet he's not an inch over five four."

Sweets stares at them, trying to find that awkwardness in their relationship that has been there for months now. But he can't find it. If Doctor Brennan was ever flustered or a little off like Angela said, Sweets can't find a hint of it now. And he could have _sworn_ something was wrong with them last week. He couldn't have just been imagining it, could he? Angela has seen something too, which means it—whatever _it_ is—must be real.

But if it is, where is it? Scrutinizing them closely, Sweets is startled to find that he's looking at the partners who left Washington over a year back. There's no doubt about it—something has shifted between them again. Something that has made them _them_ again.

Sweets shoots a confused look at Angela, and by the puzzled look in the artist's eyes, she can't see anything either. Booth and Brennan are acting…normal. More normal than they've been in months. No more awkward glances and averting of eyes, no more shifting feet. There's Booth, clearly interested and at ease with his partner, and Brennan, relaxed and smiling. Booth even reaches over to take one end of the open file, and their fingers brush. Neither flinches. Last week, when Booth had so much as _looked_ near his partner, they both had moved away nervously. _What has changed?_

"Hey, sweetie," Angela puts in, turning from her seat on the couch.

Brennan looks at her in surprise, lowering the file in her hands. "Angela! What are you doing here?"

Sweets exchanges glances with the artist and, in a moment of mutual agreement, decides silently not to say a thing.

"Hodgins wants to paint the baby room green," Angela lies smoothly, "and I wanted to get Sweets' opinion on it. I mean, does that mean he's expecting a boy? Is it some psychological thing?"

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," Sweets answers quickly. "I'm sure it's a phase. He'll be painting the room purple next."

Brennan smiles and says, "I'll come over some time and help you with the painting."

"Yeah," Booth chimes in over her shoulder, "call me too. I still have some paint left over from Parker's last science experiment."

Brennan frowns and gives him a look. "Fresh paint is ideal, Booth. I'm sure Angela and Hodgins don't want their baby room colored with secondhand paint."

"It's not secondhand paint!" he protests. "It's just paint I haven't used yet."

"It's probably dry and faded."

"It's sealed in a can with a lid I hammered shut myself. _Hammered shut._ As in, sealed in so tight you'd have to get a crowbar to pry it open."

"Well, unless you created a vacuum inside the can—which is well-beyond your technological capabilities—chemical and natural processes will occur. The paint you have left will likely not be as fresh as you remember it."

Sweets shoots Angela a look, and she returns it. Their eyes reflect a shared, _What the hell?_ It's like the two partners have changed overnight. Any and all tension between them has magically gone poof, and they seem as close as ever.

It makes him wonder: was there ever really a problem in the first place?

* * *

**Thoughts welcome, as always. **


	9. The Three on the Trip

**Hope you enjoy :) A little fun before leaping back into the angst. **

**Oh, and happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Bones. **

* * *

**The Three on the Trip**

"Bones! Could you maybe hurry up a little? I'm growing a beard out here."

Booth looks down at Parker, who smiles knowingly back up at him. They silently count to three on their fingers before mouthing, "_That's irrational"_ just as Bones shouts through the door, "That's irrational, Booth. No matter how much testosterone you have, it would be impossible for you to grow a beard in the time it takes me to get dressed."

"What's testosterone?" Parker whispers, pulling on his sleeve.

Looking down at him, Booth answers vaguely, "It's stuff that makes your hair grow." God knows he isn't getting any more in depth on that until Parker takes biology in high school.

Of course, Bones has no such inhibitions. "That's not entirely accurate," she says, opening the door. "Testosterone is the main male sex hormone and—"

"_Bones!"_

She looks at them curiously. "What?"

Over Parker's head, Booth makes a cutting motion across his throat and narrows his eyes at her. Thankfully, she seems to get the point and shuts her mouth. But the silence lasts only a split second before she realizes aloud, "Oh, we shouldn't be talking about sex around children."

He closes his eyes and lets out an exasperated groan.

"Dad," Parker asks brightly, "what's sex?"

Jeez, these two just bounce off each other perfectly to wear him out, don't they? With another groan, Booth slaps his hands over Parker's ears and says, "Nothing. Just pretend you didn't hear that." His son opens his mouth with another question in mind, no doubt, but Booth hurriedly speaks over him. "So, Bones, you ready?"

She nods and turns. "Give me a second to lock my door, and we can go."

As she locks the door, slips the key in her coat pocket, and wraps her scarf around her neck, Booth surreptitiously looks her up and down. She's dressed casually today in jeans, a pair of warm boots, and a nice white button-up coat. Under the collars of the coat, he can just see the top of the blue long-sleeved shirt he likes. Is there any way to dress Bones up so she will _not_ look good?

"Okay," she says after a moment. "Where are we headed?"

"To the aquarium!" Parker shouts happily. "We'll get to see the sharks and the clown fish, and the—" He stops abruptly, staring at her wrist. "What happened to your cast, Bones?"

She smiles and holds up her completely healed arm. "I had it taken off a couple of days ago. I don't need it anymore."

"You didn't throw it away, did you?" Parker asks anxiously.

With a laugh, Bones shakes her head. "No, I kept it. A reminder."

"That it hurts to break your arm and you shouldn't do anything dangerous anymore?" Parker asks.

"Yes," she says. "A reminder of that." But there's something in her eyes that tells Booth it's so much more. He wonders what the cast means to her, what it's really a reminder of. That night? What happened that night, really? He still hasn't puzzled out the whole truth, even as often as he's dropped hints here and there around Bones and Angela. Angela, he thinks, really doesn't know much. Bones is clamped so tightly around her secrets he probably won't be able to get through with a bulldozer. So he figures it's best to wait. She'll tell him some time or another, when she's ready. When it's important enough. So he lets her keep her silence, for now.

They get into his SUV, and he makes sure they both buckle up before pulling out onto the street.

"I can't wait to see the sharks," Parker enthuses from the back seat. "Dad showed me some pictures and they look really cool!"

Bones turns in her seat. "Have you never been to the aquarium before?"

Parker shakes his head. "I went once when I was really young, so I don't remember much."

"Took him with Rebecca when he was four," Booth explains. "He liked the sharks then too."

Twenty minutes later, they pull up to the aquarium, and Parker bounds to the front desk in excitement. Booth has to keep one eye on his son as he pays for the tickets, and once they clear the entrance to the aquarium, Parker takes off like a loose cannon.

"He's very energetic," Bones observes as they follow behind at a slower pace.

"He's a kid," Booth answers. "I tell Rebecca she shouldn't give him so much candy."

"When I was little," Bones says, smiling at the memory, "I loved those butterscotch candies. I ate them until I got sick."

Booth looks at her skeptically and laughs. "I have a hard time imagining you doing anything unhealthy."

She frowns defensively at him. "What? I was a normal child."

"Except you told me you kept faking your own death."

"Only for a period of time."

"And you did creepy things in high school."

She shrugs. "Depends on how you define 'creepy.'"

He laughs again, shaking his head. "How could dissecting dead bodies with a shady custodian be anything _but_ creepy?"

"It was very educational," she says matter-of-factly. "It was a useful tool for learning basic anatomy, even in animals. In fact, if you want, I could show Parker some time—"

"Oh-ho, no!" Booth chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head. "There is _no_ way I'm going to let you and Parker go dig bird corpses out of trees and dissect them just to learn about where hearts are and where lungs belong. You can learn all that stuff in a nice, bloodless book."

She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. "Studies prove that hands-on experimentation and observation are more effective than rote memorization."

"Well, we're not going to be doing and _hands-on experimentation_ if I have anything to say about it," Booth mutters. But he's already lost Bones' attention; she's drifted away from his side to stare at an exhibit of jellyfish, brought into visibility by black light. He takes a moment to marvel in how bright her eyes are, lit up with childish amazement. She looks so much like a little girl then, the little girl she never got to be, that he has to tuck his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out to her.

"They're pretty," he says, watching the jellyfish drift from one end of the tank to another, their tentacles fluttering with the movement.

"They're very impressive," she answers. "See? It's a different thing, reading about them in books and now seeing them in person. For one thing, it's difficult for a scientific explanation in a book to evoke emotion. Looking at them now, I feel…awed."

"A different thing," Booth repeats, and he gets what she's talking about. For example, it's one thing to read about firing a gun, and it's another thing to actually be out in the field looking through a sniper's scope knowing you're about to take someone's life with a pull of your finger. And it's one thing reading about Andy and Kathy locking lips in a book; it's quite another thing to actually kiss Bones in real life, to feel her body pressed up tight against his.

And where the _hell_ did that last thought come from? He knows, God he knows, he's still in love with Bones as ever, but seriously, it's _way_ too early to be getting these thoughts again. Not that these thoughts ever stopped, now that he thinks about it, but he needs to keep them under wraps, or the next thing he'll be doing is kissing the living daylights out of Bones and probably earning a shiny black eye in the process.

He just says, "You're right," as normally as he can manage without getting all dry-mouthed at the thought of Bones' body pressed against his.

She nods. "Of course I am," she says in that completely matter-of-fact way that takes all the arrogance out of her words. "And imagine a different perspective: imagine being _in_ the tank with them."

Booth shudders at the thought. "I've watching enough horror movies to get the gist of what would happen."

She shrugs nonchalantly. "You probably wouldn't be killed. Look, the placard says their stings, though potentially extremely painful, are relatively harmless."

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, that's so much better. I'll just be in agony for a week."

"That _is_ better," Bones agrees, in that oblivious-to-sarcasm way she has. "It's better than being dead."

She'll never understand sarcasm, will she? He sighs. "Yeah, better than being six feet under. Now come on. Where's Parker?"

They find his son standing wide-eyed at the shark exhibit, too riveted to be bothered. So, with a shake of his head, Booth pulls Bones away to the nearby glass wall of swirling fish, near enough to still keep an eye on Parker.

"He's growing up fast," Booth mutters, casting a glance back at his son. "I mean, a blink of an eye, and he'll be a snarky teenager who's too cool for me. Say goodbye to those good ol' daddy days."

"That's common enough in adolescents these days," Bones agrees, and Booth shoots her an exasperated look.

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" he asks.

She looks back at him quizzically. "No. It's a fact."

He decides it's too much effort to keep on the topic, so he turns to the tank and looks up at it, at the columns of swirling fish and mountains of coral. "So what is this?"

"French angelfish," Bones replies promptly. At his surprised look, she points to the placard in front of them.

"That's…interesting," Booth says, even though they look just like any other fish in the aquarium. Their exoticism is dampened by the exoticism of pretty much every other creature in the place, and he can't see anything that's special about them except their patterning, which gleams in the light.

"They _are_ interesting," Bones agrees, sounding much more involved than he is. "Did you know that French angelfish mate for life?"

His gaze flickers over to her before returning to the myriad of fish. "That's not on the placard."

She shrugs. "Angela had an animal phase. She and I looked up all the animals that mate for life, and she drew pictures of all of them. It was quite romantic, actually."

"Romantic," Booth says slowly. "Can't imagine you doing much of that either."

She gives him a look. "Being romantic isn't particularly hard to do, Booth. You say and do sweet things, and you express your love in radical and sometimes ridiculous ways. It's simple."

"I think you're the only one who can make being romantic sound incredibly unromantic," Booth mutters with a sigh. "Being romantic is more than that, Bones. It's…loving someone your whole life, like that fish."

"I think people feel offended when compared to a fish," she offers.

With a sigh, he shakes his head. "That's not the point. Being romantic is…is cooking breakfast for the other person in the morning. Or sharing the covers on the bed when it gets really cold. Or watching a cheesy chick flick even if you'd rather be watching football."

"Or the latest anthropologic documentary."

He rolls his eyes. "Or the latest anthropologic documentary. Being romantic is doing what makes the other person happy. It's a lot more than saying sweet things and declaring your love in outrageous ways."

She smiles, her eyes on the fish swimming high above them. "I think that was very romantic, Booth."

He turns and gives her a little bow. "Thank you."

By that time, Parker's gotten bored of the sharks and pulls them along to the lionfish. And then to the sea turtles, and then to the sea snails, and all the animals start to blend together. Booth smiles at all of them and lifts Parker onto his shoulders (something that's getting harder to do) when he can't see something, but his attention is split between his son and Bones. Parker's wide-eyed amazement will never fail to bring a grin to Booth's face. And Bones' delighted exclamation when the manta rays drift by waving to her makes him just want to take her into his arms. God, he loves both of them so much it's almost unbelieveable. One makes him smile and laugh like an idiot; the other makes his heart ache.

"I'm starving," Parker groans after nearly three hours of scampering around the aquarium.

Booth snorts and checks his watch. "It's almost one. No wonder you're hungry."

"I saw a few restaurants within the aquarium," Bones offers. "I think it was back that way."

She points, and Booth shrugs. "Sure, let's go that way."

He takes Parker's hand on one side and is surprised when his son reaches up to take Bones' hand on the other side. He's struck by the imagery: the three of them holding hands like a real family, like Parker had drawn on Bones' cast. It makes a shiver go through him, a shiver of longing. If only it were real.

They find the restaurant easily enough, and as they wait for the orders to arrive, Booth and Parker make lemonade out of the water and slice of lemon they've been given. Bones laughs and rolls her eyes at them like they're so immature for making their own lemonade instead of ordering it, but Booth smirks at her. _They're_ immature? Who was the one stuffing fries in his mouth and squirting mustard at him a couple of days back?

"Let's go to the gift shop next," Parker suggests brightly as the waitress comes with their meals. He picks up a chicken nugget and takes a huge bite.

Booth groans and pretends to glare at him. "You're cleaning me out today, buddy."

They spend the next hour lingering over their meals, and Booth can't help but smile every time Bones reaches for the salt. She seems to remember their food fight too, because every once in a while, her eyes flicker up to his and her lips curve up into a secret smile. When Parker's not looking, Booth picks up one of his fries and mimes throwing it at Bones, and she pretends to spill her drink in his lap in response. He glares at her in mock-outrage and reaches with exaggerated slowness for the salt shaker, and Bones' grin widens. They touch the salt shaker simultaneously and pretend to wrestle with it for a moment before Bones, that knowing, teasing look in her eyes, licks her lips tantalizingly. And just like the last time, Booth's grip slackens as he stares at her lips, at the way her tongue caresses them ever-so-slowly, at the way her upper teeth just barely graze her lower lip…holy _hell…_

"Daddy," Parker interrupts curiously, "why are you and Bones doing all that stuff?"

"What? Huh?" Snapping out of his daze, Booth straightens and coughs. "What?"

"You and Bones," Parker repeats. "You're doing some funny stuff."

"Nothing," Booth answers quickly, suppressing a grin. If he tells Parker about the food fight, next thing he knows, he'll be hearing from the school principal about food being flung in the cafeteria, courtesy of Mr. Parker Booth. And _that_ isn't happening on his watch.

Bones, thankfully, doesn't add anything, though she does continue to lick her lips oh-so-innocently throughout the rest of the meal. She has no idea what it does to him, does she? He eyes the ice in his lemonade to keep from staring at Bones. He can feel her teasing gaze on him the whole time, which makes it that much harder to keep from looking at her.

Finally, Parker finishes off his chicken nuggets and lemonade, and they head off toward the gift shop. Through a concerted effort on the part of both Bones and Parker, Booth is coerced into buying ice cream for all of them on the way. Bones studies her cone in delight and says, "It's been a long time since I had ice cream."

Booth grins at her. "It has? I should buy you some more some time." He licks his own chocolate cone sprinkled with rainbow dots and looks at hers. "Well? Take a lick."

Well, _that's_ almost the stupidest thing he could have said, because she obediently takes a long, slow lick of her ice cream, flicking her tongue upward at the top of the scoop. And she's _smiling_ at him the whole time, which tells him that yes, genius, Bones really does know what she does to you. And she's _exploiting _it. Painfully.

Almost certain his face is an interesting shade of red, he glares at her, but she doesn't seem to notice, of course. Her eyes on the ice cream, she takes another tantalizing lick and smacks her lips loudly. "This is very good."

He wrenches his eyes violently away from her because another second of that and he'll be mauling her right then and there in the middle of the aquarium. The thought's enough to make him shove back all the not-so-nice stuff he'd like to be doing with Bones right now, and concentrate on his ice cream instead.

They reach the gift shop, and Booth lets Parker run off in search of a souvenir while he and Bones wander a bit more slowly through the aisles of stuff.

"Look, Booth," she says with a laugh.

He turns to find her with a purple octopus hat on her head, the tentacles flailing around her face. It's so cute he can't help but laugh, but she glares at him.

"Don't laugh. You'd look ridiculous too."

He shakes his head. "Probably. But you aren't getting me into one of those."

He's barely finished his sentence before Bones uses her free hand to fish a sea turtle hat out of the container and plop it on his head. He looks up to try to catch sight of the hat on him, and she chuckles.

"See? You look silly too."

He tries to glare at her, but it's impossible with that ridiculous hat on her head. She loses the battle too, and soon they're giggling like idiots in the middle of the store.

"Hang on," Bones laughs, handing him her ice cream cone. "Let me get a picture of this." She digs her phone out of her pocket and holds it up in front of them. Booth leans in as close as he dares and lets her snap the picture before stepping back quickly.

She looks at the result and shakes her head. "No, I only got half your body. Get closer, Booth."

He swallows and wonders just how close he's brave enough to get. Too close and he'll spook her off, he's sure. He'll do something incredibly stupid because he can't help himself, and that barrier of tension that's been gone for a couple of blissful days will slam back between them. He can't trust himself around her, that's for sure.

"Come here," Bones orders, seemingly oblivious to his hesitation. She pulls him flush against her, her left arm wrapping behind his back. She's so warm. Too warm. He holds his breath as he smiles into the camera, praying he doesn't lose control of himself.

She snaps the photo, and he pulls away in relief, as much as he wants to just hold her closer. Clearing his throat, he says, "Let me see."

She turns the phone around and shows him the picture. They look for all the world like a silly couple on a date, what with their bright smiles and matching animal hats. With a grin, he says, "That's good. Send it to me later."

She nods and tucks her phone away again before taking her ice cream back from him. They leave the hats in the container and slowly browse through the rest of the store, Booth craning his neck from time to time to keep an eye on Parker. Bones finishes the rest of her ice cream quickly (thankfully), freeing up her hands to get into everything. She picks up picture books and stuffed animals and bouncy balls, everything delighting that child in her she never got to be. He's only rarely seen this side of her, this fun-loving, not-so-analytical, smiling side of her. It makes him warm inside, to know he's brought this part of her out. The part he loves as much as he loves the scientist in her.

"I want to get something for my nieces," she muses, staring at a rack of stuffed toys. "The seal or the platypus?"

Booth looks at both and says, "Seal. It's cuter."

"But the platypus is less well-known," Bones argues. "I think it's better to expose children to less familiar things to educate them."

"Okay, then take the platypus."

"But I have to admit, the seal is strangely attractive."

He laughs at her word choice. "It's called being cute, Bones. Unless you mean it has a nice, symmetrical facial bone or whatnot."

She considers it, brow furrowed. "It _is_ symmetrical, though that's from the generic manufacturing and assembly lines rather than any real genetic advantage."

Oh, she's priceless. Booth snorts. "_Wow_, Bones. Are you really analyzing genetic advantages in a stuffed toy?"

She shrugs, scrutinizing the toys. After a moment, she says, "All things considered, I think I'll get both." So saying, she grabs both of them and proceeds to wander the rest of the shop. Booth follows on her heels, finishing off his ice cream and wondering if anything can get any cuter than Bones as she is now.

She gets engrossed in a bunch of scientific books on the marine life in the aquarium, so Booth wanders off to find Parker. He finds him considering an aisle of gifts near the other end of the shop.

"What do you think?" Parker asks solemnly, holding up an orange shark.

Booth stares at him in confusion. "You hate orange."

"I know." He sighs and looks down at the stuffed animal. "It's just…I wanted to buy something for Jordan."

Booth's eyebrows shoot up, and he asks incredulously, "Who's Jordan?"

Parker sighs again, his eyes on the ground. "She's this girl in my art class. And my math class. And my English class. She's really pretty, and she draws really well, and she likes orange."

For a moment, Booth just gapes at him. His son has a crush. His _son_ has a _crush._ He doesn't know whether to congratulate the kid (rite of passage?) or ask for Jordan's last name so he can do an immediate background check. Either way, Parker looks embarrassed.

He decides to go for the less embarrassing route. "So, are you going for the orange shark then?" he asks casually.

Parker nods. "I think so. Or the dolphin."

"Dolphin," Booth says automatically. "I think a girl's more likely to go for a dolphin."

Parker picks up the orange dolphin and holds it up next to the shark. "You think so?"

Booth nods confidently. "Yeah, dolphins are cute and cuddly. Sharks are rougher, you know? Don't you think a girl would like something cuter?"

Parker eyes the dolphin in consideration and bites his lip. "I guess so…"

"Hey, Parker. Booth." Bones returns to them, her stuffed animals in one hand and a thick book under the other. "That's a nice shark."

"Parker's trying to buy a gift for this girl in school," Booth whispers to her. "I told him to go with the dolphin."

"Dolphins are nice," she murmurs back, her eyes suddenly darker. Booth realizes belatedly that she must be thinking about her mother and mentally kicks himself for rousing bad memories.

"Never mind," he says hastily. "Parker, pick either one, and let's go. It's getting late."

They leave the shop ten minutes later, spend another thirty minutes wandering through the last few exhibits of the aquarium, and leave a little before four. In the car, Parker falls asleep in the back seat almost instantly, and Bones drifts off a little while later. Booth glances at both of them and smiles fondly.

She's still asleep when he drops Parker off at Rebecca's, and he lets her doze, wondering what time she got into bed last night. He'd been busy with paperwork and hadn't had the chance to run to the Jeffersonian to make sure she left on time, but he wishes he'd just taken ten minutes to at least call her. She looks exhausted.

When they pull into the parking lot of her apartments, he reaches over to nudge her gently. "Bones? We're here. Bones."

With a yawn, she stretches in the seat and blinks sleepily. "What?"

"We're at your apartment," he repeats, pointing up at the building.

"Oh." She sits up and looks in the back seat. "Where's Parker?"

"I dropped him off already." At her slightly disappointed look, he adds, "He said goodbye, but you were asleep."

"Oh." She yawns again and opens the car door. "Thanks, Booth. I had a lot of fun."

He opens his door too and gets out. "Wait, I'll walk you."

She frowns in response, pulling her coat in tighter as a wind whips up. "You don't have to. I'll be perfectly safe."

Hands in his pockets, he shakes his head and moves with her as she heads into the building. "It's not about your safety, Bones. I just want to."

In silence, they take the elevator up to Bones' floor, and he waits as she unlocks the door. "Do you want to come in?" she asks, pushing the door open.

Eyeing her sleepy eyes, he shakes his head. "Nah. You should really get some sleep."

"I'm not that tired," she protests. "You can come in for a little while."

After a moment of consideration, he nods and follows her inside. It's warmer in the apartment than in the hallway, and he lets out a little sigh of contentment. Bones strips off her coat and lays her nieces' gifts and her new book on marine life on her coffee table.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asks, moving toward the kitchen.

"Sure." He follows her and opens her fridge as she riffles through her cabinets. "Jeez, what do you eat, Bones? There's barely anything in here."

Pulling out packets of hot chocolate, she shrugs. "There's fruit and bagels. If I need to, I can always go any number of restaurants or diners around the Jeffersonian."

"Yum," he mutters, swinging the fridge closed again. He helps her stir the hot chocolate powder into boiling water, and a few minutes later, they settle on her couch with steaming mugs.

"Today was fun," Booth says after a moment, sipping his hot chocolate.

Bones nods. "Yeah, it was. I'm glad I went."

He looks over at her, tracing the lines of her nose and eyes slowly. "I'm glad you came."

She shifts under his gaze, and he looks away, swallowing. They both sip their drinks and sit in comfortable silence, each lost in thought. Booth is already thinking of the next week, wondering if he can clear up any days so he can take Bones out somewhere again. Their rediscovered friendship feels great, feels _right_, and he wants to revel in it as many times as he can. Where to next time? Amusement park? Zoo? Parker's next soccer game?

"Thank you," Bones says quietly, not looking at him. "For taking me. I'm glad you asked."

"I'll always ask," he says. He _promises._ No more of leaving her alone when he has other things to focus on. She's the most important person in his life, barring Parker, and he seriously needs to start treating her that way. Treating her special, like she deserves.

She smiles. "But hopefully not next week. I really do need to start on those remains from Maluku, and the Biology Department wants my opinion on some files."

He smiles too, glancing over at her. "Sure. Nothing planned next week."

They talk quietly about nothing important for a long while, and Booth relaxes into the couch, into this atmosphere of warmth and happiness. He could stay here and talk to Bones forever, sipping hot chocolate and watching her eyes shine as she talks about anything and everything in the world.

Eventually, though, it gets too late for him to stay much longer. Bones is looking like she's half a second away from passing out, so Booth takes their mugs back to the kitchen and collects his coat. Bones walks him to the door, and he pauses in the open doorway, suddenly shy.

"Listen, Bones, I saw this at the aquarium, and I wanted you to have it." He fishes the gift out of his coat pocket and hands it to her.

It's a couple of dark earrings shaped like leaping dolphins, their dark blue gleaming in the light. They're simple but pretty, and he thinks of her eyes when he sees that color.

"Booth," she breathes, staring at them in surprise and wonder.

"It's nothing," he answers embarrassedly, because it really is nothing. They didn't cost much, and it's not as if she hasn't seen dolphin earrings before. It's just a gift from one friend to another.

"Thank you," she says, looking up at him. And her eyes are shining in a way that surprises him. She just looks so grateful and happy, when all he's done is buy her some earrings from a gift shop. The brightness in her eyes makes his breath catch, and all of a sudden he wants to kiss her. Badly.

There's something in her eye that makes him think she wants the same thing. His gaze flickers down to her lips quickly before locking with her eyes again. The logical side of him is screaming, _It's too soon! Too soon!_ The rest of him thinks, _So what?_

He's leaning in ever-so-slowly, his eyes riveted on hers, and he can almost taste her lips on his. His breath quickens in anticipation, and he's almost touching her, but at that instant, something shifts in her eyes. Suddenly, there's fear there, fear and a silent, resounding _no._

He's so close. So, _so_ close. But he can't do it. Not with those scared eyes of hers, that scared look that makes him freeze. He doesn't stop to think about what she might be afraid of; he only knows that she _is_ afraid, and that it's because of something he's doing.

With a gasp, he wrenches himself away from her, stepping back with all the willpower he has. They both stare at each other, wide-eyed, wondering what happened and if it's changed anything. He searches her eyes for a long moment, wondering if he's stepped over the line. Praying he hasn't.

"I'm sorry," he says, as steadily as he can, but his voice still shakes a bit. "I'm sorry, Bones. I—I don't know…I don't know. I'm sorry."

She stares at him, and he can't read anything from her expression. He stands there on her doorstep, holding his breath, hoping everything will be all right.

Finally, finally, she smiles at him and says, "Nothing happened, Booth. What are you sorry for?"

Relief makes his knees go weak, and he lets out a long breath. Even though her smile looks forced, even if she's ignoring what _almost_ happened between them, he'll take it.

"Right." He clears his throat. "So I'll see you Monday then?"

She nods and smiles again. He's relieved to see it looks a bit more genuine this time. "I'll see you Monday, Booth."

He waves to her and walks down to his car. Sitting there waiting for the engine to warm up, he blows out a breath. He almost crossed the line tonight. And so soon after Hannah, too. Damn it. He can't be doing this. He and Bones have barely gotten back to friends, and he wants to go and ruin it all over again? And back there, she'd looked scared. Scared of him? Hopefully not. If she _is_ scared of him, he doesn't think he can take it. But he doesn't think so. Scared of what then?

He shakes his head with a sigh. There are just some things—most things—about Bones that he'll never figure out.

With another sigh, he pulls out of the parking lot and heads home.

* * *

He almost kissed her. Almost. But he pulled away in the last instant, and…

And she was disappointed. Afraid, yes, but disappointed. _Why?_

There's something about them, about their partnership, that just won't let them stay friends. What is it? She hates it because it confuses her, confuses her like nothing else has in her entire life.

She looks at the earrings in her hand and feels the irrational urge to cry. Cry because it reminds her of her mother, cry because the dolphins seem to smile like her mother did once, cry because it means Booth still cares. Of course Booth still cares. She always knew that. But this…he _cares._ Like the good friends they once were and still are. He cares about her in a way that confuses her to no end, because she came to rely on him, and then he left her for Hannah and didn't once look back, and now he's back again. And despite everything, despite her promises to stay independent because if she lets herself go, she always gets hurt, she's come to rely on Booth again. So quickly, to easily. She's come to _care _about him again, if she ever stopped at all.

With a quiet sigh, she pushes back those emotions and rises. Placing the earrings on her bedside table, she undresses and gets into bed.

It's a long time before she falls asleep.

* * *

**Thhhoooughttts? :)**


	10. The Fracture in the Friendship

**I'm on a roll, guys. This is the result of me writing obsessively instead of doing physics homework. Or my history projects. Or studying for my tests, for that matter. **

**Disclaimer: Bones = not mine. **

* * *

**The Fracture in the Friendship**

"Do you see, Wendell?" Brennan points with a gloved finger to the top of the skull. "The projectile must have entered here, shattering the skull and entering with enough force to punch through the brain and through the jaw as well."

"A straight shot from the top down," Wendell muses. "I'll get Hodgins to work on finding particulates so we can identify the murder weapon."

"Good. I'll find Angela to see if she has a sketch." Stripping off her gloves, Brennan descends from the forensic platform and starts toward Angela's office. On the way, her phone rings, and she digs it out to see Booth's name flash across the screen. With a slight smile, she picks up. "Booth?"

"Yeah, hey, Bones. So, what's up? What killed the guy?"

"A projectile or some sort of long, slender weapon with enough force to punch through the top of the skull through the head and out the bottom of the jaw. In essence, impaling his head on some sort of stake."

She can almost imagine Booth's wince. "Ouch. Anything on the murder weapon?"

She shakes her head, even though he can't see her. "Nothing yet. I'm getting Hodgins to work on particulates, and Angela's working up a drawing."

"Great." He pauses for a moment before saying, "So, uh, listen, are we going to lunch today?"

A thrill shoots through her, incomprehensible and unwelcome. It's been so long without Booth's company that it still feels a bit exciting every time he asks her to lunch or dinner, which is a lot more often these days. But she doesn't want to feel like this about him. Not now, not ever. Not again.

"Yes," she says calmly, suppressing the eagerness from her tone. "One o'clock? I have extra paperwork to finish today."

"Sure. Actually, I'll be over in about ten minutes. I have to pick up some files from the last case."

"All right." She arrives at Angela's office door and adds, "I have to go."

"Yeah, sure."

He disconnects, and she shuts her phone before knocking lightly on Angela's door as she walks in. "Angela?"

"Over here, sweetie," Angela calls from in front of her screen. She has her controller in hand and is fiddling around with it.

"Are you done with the sketch?" Brennan asks, gazing at Angela's work on the screen. It just looks like a mash-up of a bunch of different skull structures and features. There is no recognizable human face.

Angela shakes her head. "Sorry, no. The damage done to the skull makes it a bit harder to reconstruct it virtually." She bites her lip as she considers the virtual pieces of the skull to the side of the screen. "I'm going to need probably another hour or so."

Brennan nods. "Sure. Send it to me and Cam when you're done."

Turning on her heel, she starts to leave, but Angela calls after her, "Wait a second, Bren. Can we talk for a second?"

Stopping, Brennan turns back and nods expectantly. "Of course. What do you want to talk about?"

There's a look in Angela's eye that convinces Brennan that she isn't going to like the upcoming topic. She isn't adept at reading people by any stretch of the imagination, but that look in Angela's eye right now is one she's known for a long time, too long not to recognize it. So she waits in apprehensive silence as Angela finds the right words.

"I heard about Booth," Angela says finally. Her expression is half-excited, half-worried. "What do…well, what do you think about it?"

About Booth? About what? Brennan tries to think about any important events in Booth's life lately and can't remember any. Not his birthday, not a promotion, not anything new. Not anything new that he's shared with her, at least. The thought sends a pang of hurt through her; does Angela know something she doesn't?

"About what?" she asks in genuine confusion.

Angela levels a deadpan look at her. "Don't play that game with me, sweetie. Seriously."

"What game?" Now she's doubly confused. "I'm not feigning ignorance, Angela."

"Booth broke up with Hannah!" Angela bursts out, her expression annoyed. "Don't tell me you forgot that!"

Oh. _Oh._ In fact, she _had_ forgot about it. The news with Hannah was something she filed away almost right after she heard about it, something she tried to forget. She doesn't want to open that box, to open the emotions that come _with_ that box. She isn't ready for it, and probably won't ever be ready.

"Oh, that," she says evenly, her eyes sliding away from Angela's. "Yes, I heard."

"And?" Angela prompts, her tone near-incredulous. "You had to have some reaction to it. Like happiness? Joy? Ecstatic celebration?"

Puzzled, Brennan looks at her. "Why would I feel any of those emotions? It's a sad thing. Booth was very happy with her."

Angela exclaims in obvious exasperation, "Because you love him, that's why! You two are perfect together!"

Brennan stops, for just a split second. Anger roars in her ears for a heartbeat. Anger at herself, because as much as she still cares for him (_loves_ him?), no one should be able to see. She's hidden those feelings from herself well enough all this time. Why the hell can't she hide the same from others? Angela, Cam, _no one_ should know about how she feels, damn it. Because it's not _true._ Love isn't real.

"I'm not in love with him," she protests with a quiet, forced laugh. "I don't know why people keep assuming that."

At that, Angela stares at her in silence for a long moment. Her eyes are unreadable, that look Brennan recognized gone. Brennan looks back at her steadily, wondering if Angela's decided to drop the topic already. But no, her friend is usually much more persistent. So what comes next? A clicking of the tongue and comment on her obliviousness? A cry of exasperation and a disapproving shake of the head?

To Brennan's shock, fury flares to life in Angela's eyes. Dark, sharp _fury._ She has never in all her years of knowing her seen Angela this angry. Annoyed, yes. Frustrated and vexed, often. But furious, truly furious? At _her?_ Never.

"Stop it," Angela says, quietly but bitingly. "Stop it."

It takes her a moment to find her voice. When she does, her confusion is clear in her tone. "Stop what?"

"Stop ignoring everything," Angela snaps, crossing her arms. "I know you're not as emotionless as you want to be, Bren. You felt something when Booth told you, didn't you? I know you did, because when I walked into your office last week, you looked like a mess. I've never seen you that flustered. So I know, I _know,_ Booth breaking up with Hannah meant something to you. Don't you _dare_ tell me otherwise."

She opens her mouth, but all that will come to mind are lies. Ignoring her helpless gaze, Angela bulldozes over her anyway. "You've spent seven years doing a little dance around Booth, and nothing's happened! God, it's enough to make me scream. I've watched you patiently for seven years, Bren. I've watched you pretend there's nothing between you and Booth, I've watched you push your emotions away when you needed to let them all go. And it's not working, Bren. I can take one look at you and tell that you're not happy."

"I _am _happy," Brennan manages, staring in bewilderment at her friend. Where is this coming from? She never thought Angela would be so impassioned about a perceived relationship between Booth and herself. From her viewpoint, it's not something to _be_ so impassioned about.

"Bullshit!" Angela fumes, her eyes blazing. "I am _not_ going to allow you to ruin your life because of some stupid idea that you're _not _in love with Booth, or that you _can't_ be in love with him. You love him and he loves you. Period! Fact of life! I've been witnessing it for seven years, so get it through your genius head."

"Angela…"

"No. _Don't_ you 'Angela' me." She stomps over to her couch, pauses for a moment, and stomps back, stopping almost in Brennan's face. "I'm not going to take this anymore. I swear. You…you and Booth are just infuriating! You, because you're too blind to see the truth when it's been slapping you in the face for practically every minutes of every day. Booth, because he's probably too chickenshit to say anything, even though the entire lab—the entire _world!_—knows what he feels about you. And _God_, all this time, he's being such a coward for not saying anything when he's had _seven_ goddamn years to do it!"

And something breaks in her. Something about being yelled at by her best friend who never yells at her, something about Booth being called a coward, something about _everything_ is one thing too much for her. Without thinking, without doing anything but feeling the heat of the moment, she blurts out, "He _has!_ He has, Angela, he has! Don't call him a coward, because he isn't. He isn't. He told me, and I…I…If anyone's a coward, it's me, because I turned him down because I—"

_I was scared. I was so damn scared of changing that I let him go. I let him go. _

But she bites those words back, and everything she's said runs through her mind again. The force of it hits her, and she steps back, horrified beyond words that she's revealed that much. That she's let every line of defense she has crack, let those words through. Those words no one should ever have heard.

Angela stares wide-eyed and open-mouthed at her, clearly shocked out of her rage. Brennan wishes she could take all her words back, take back that stupid, stupid slip of hers. She closes her eyes and knows for the first time what it means to want the floor to swallow her up.

"Sweetie," Angela breathes, shock heavy in her voice, "I…_when?"_

She grits her teeth and turns away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"_Brennan._" Her voice is sharp again, shedding the astonishment for anger. "Don't you run from this. I won't let you."

"Run from _what?_" Brennan demands, her own anger rising in defense. "There's nothing to run from."

"From your feelings, that's what!" Angela snaps furiously. "For the first time since you've met Booth, you're being honest with yourself! I know that doesn't come easy with you—God _knows_ that doesn't come easy with you—so when you _are_ honest with yourself that one time in a millennia, I'm not going to let you go and ruin it!"

"Oh, because I just ruin everything?" Brennan retorts, her eyes narrowing. "And emotions come difficultly for me because I'm some sort of a—a robot with a stunted emotional range and an incapability of empathy?"

"Maybe you are, if you can't see what's right in front of your face!" Angela snarls, clenching her fists.

At that, Brennan freezes, all the air and fight leaving her in a whoosh. She knows rationally that Angela's behavior is being affected by pregnancy hormones and that her friend most likely has little control over her emotions as a result. But her words still hurt. Her words still feel like a slap to the face, or a punch to her gut. She'd never thought Angela of all people…her _best friend_…

"All right," she says stiffly, not knowing what else to say. What _can_ she say to that? She has to blink back the sudden wetness in her eyes.

Horror washes instantly over Angela's face. "Oh my God. Sweetie, I didn't…I just…"

Brennan wheels on her heel and stares determinedly at the wall, swallowing hard over the burning in her throat. Carefully, carefully, she tucks it all away. Seals those emotions shut deep in her heart where nothing can ever, ever break them open again because she doesn't want to be hurt anymore. She's tired of being hurt. She just needs to be strong and scientific and cold. Logical.

"Oh my God."

Angela's voice is different this time, strange. It takes Brennan a moment to realize the strain in Angela's voice is from pain, not fury. Still hurt, still angry, she stares resolutely at the wall for another moment before concern for her friend forces her to turn.

Angela is leaning one hand against the wall as she sucks in deep gasps, her eyes wide. Her other hand is clutched around her swollen middle.

"Are you all right?" Brennan asks anxiously, her anger forgotten, vanished up in smoke. She hurries to Angela's side and takes her elbow. "Angela?"

"I think…" Angela takes a deep breath and manages through gritted teeth, "I think my water broke."

For a moment, Brennan can only stare at her as her thoughts run in a mad scramble in her head. And then Angela's words fully process, and the logical side of her takes over.

"All right, can you walk? Come over and sit on the couch, and I'll get Hodgins to drive you to the—"

"Hey, Bones, what's—"

Both of them look up to see Booth in the doorway, his hand raised to knock on the doorframe. He stares at them, his face contorting in sudden concern. "Is Angela okay—"

"Perfect," Brennan breathes, relief washing through her. "Booth, Angela's water broke."

His eyes widen in shock. "Wha—her water _broke? _As in she's having the baby? _Now?"_

"Well, some women's water break before labor, but most have their water break spontaneously during—"

"Having a _baby_ here!" Angela manages through gritted teeth.

"Come help me," Brennan orders hurriedly. She takes Angela's right elbow, and Booth rushes over to take Angela's left elbow. Together, they help her to the door, where Brennan says, "Okay, we're going to take her to your car, Booth. You can—"

"—run the siren the whole way," Booth finishes, glancing anxiously at Angela. "Got it. Should someone get Hodgins? I mean, should he come too?"

"That would be _lovely,_" Angela pants, a spasm of pain flashing across her face. "But do we…do we _really_ have time for that?"

"Right," Booth agrees, and they help her past the forensic platform, past staring interns and scientists, and into the parking lot.

"You stay here," Booth says, releasing Angela's elbow. He jogs into the parking lot and pulls the SUV up sharply to the curb a minute later, getting out to open the back door. Together, they somehow manage to maneuver Angela into the backseat, and Booth floors the pedal, his siren blaring the instant they hit the streets.

Brennan sits tensely in the backseat, holding Angela's hand and struggling to organize her thoughts and remember _something _useful. Should she elevate Angela's feet? Should she check for the timing of the contractions? Is she supposed to be doing _anything?_

Booth's phone rings jarringly, and he snatches it open. "Booth."

Even from the backseat, Brennan can hear Hodgins screaming on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, man, I got her," Booth answers, hitting a sharp turn. He shoots a fearful look back at Angela to make sure she's okay before turning back to the road. "Yeah, she seems fine…No, I'm not lying, she seems fine! Yeah, of course I'm taking her to the hospital!"

Hodgins shouts something else into the phone, and Booth answers tersely, "I'm about ten minutes out from Washington Hospital…Yeah, we'll see you there then."

He snaps his phone shut, and Angela pants, "Was that…?"

"Hodgins?" Booth supplies. "Yeah. One of the interns told him about Bones and me carrying you out. He's hyperventilating over there. He's in his car now chasing us down."

"Good," Angela gasps. "I want…I want him to be there."

Booth hits another sharp turn, and Brennan throws a hand out to catch herself against the door. Angela grips her hand tighter and squeezes her eyes shut.

"We're almost there," Brennan tries awkwardly. She's never known how to comfort someone, and she isn't sure what to say now. "You're doing…great."

Despite her obvious pain, Angela manages a tight smile. "You're doing great too, sweetie. At least…you haven't spouted much scientific mumbo jumbo yet."

"It would help me to be scientific," Brennan says quickly, "but I didn't think you'd want to hear it just now."

Angela gives a chuckle that ends in a pained groan. "Oh God, don't make me laugh…"

Booth glances at them in the rearview mirror, his eyes worried. "Hang in there, Angela. We're almost there."

"Just drive," Angela groans, laying her head back on the headrest as she clutches her stomach with both hands.

Her mind racing, Brennan sits there for a long moment trying to remember just how long Angela's been pregnant and if this is premature or natural. How long has it been? Over seven months, definitely over the minimum thirty-four weeks of gestation. Which means…which means that labor is to be expected, and that Angela's pregnancy is going like clockwork. Good so far.

"She doing okay?" Booth asks worriedly, glancing at them again.

"She seems to be going into labor," Brennan observes.

"How can you be so calm about that?" Booth demands, sounding as if he's having a panic attack. "Well? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good," she answers, though she's not sure. "It's to be expected this far into the pregnancy."

"Are we…" Angela whimpers.

"Almost there," Booth answers, nearly frantic. "Almost there."

They screech up to the hospital doors three minutes later, and Booth parks right on the fire lane without hesitation. He leaps out of the front seat and yanks open the back door.

"Grab her arm," he says as he takes her other arm and slings it around his neck. "Come on, Angela. Come on." Brennan grasps Angela's other arm and does the same, and together, they support Angela through the sliding doors and up to the front desk.

"Hey," Booth calls sharply, rapping his knuckles hard on the receptionist's desk. The receptionist, who had been chatting with the nurse behind her, jumps and spins around in her chair. When she spots them, her eyes widen.

"Friend in labor here," Booth pants, sounding almost as out-of-breath as Angela is. "Where should we go?"

The nurse hurries over to their side and takes Angela's arm from Booth. She shouts to a group of passing doctors to help and nods at Booth. "We'll take it from here."

"But—" Brennan tries to keep a hold of Angela's hand, but one of the doctor's pulls her away.

"Trust us," the nurse says, waving her away dismissively. She turns and calls, "A little help here!"

A stretcher bed is rolled up quickly, and together, the doctors manage to maneuver Angela onto the mattress. They start to pull her away immediately, but Angela cries, "Wait! Wait!"

The doctors and nurses stop abruptly, confused, and Angela takes the moment to gasp, "Bren. I'm…sorry. I'm sorry…about what I said. I was just…"

Brennan shakes her head, her brow furrowed. "Angela, it doesn't matter. It's fine." And it is fine. All her anger and hurt has been wiped away by her concern. One moment of rash words can't do much to damage a nearly lifelong friendship. "Go," she urges, and the doctors wheel Angela away without further delay.

For a moment, Brennan just stands there in the hallway, adrenaline still pounding through her veins. Her mind is several minutes behind her body, and she has to take a moment to organize her thoughts, to realize exactly what has happened.

"She's having a baby," Booth breathes behind her. He still sounds shocked, even though the pregnancy has taken a perfectly natural course. "Wow."

She knows what he's talking about. The enormity of it isn't quite registering in her mind, probably won't register until she sets eyes on the wailing baby, full of life and future. It's still surreal to her.

At that moment, the hospital doors slide open, and Hodgins sprints through, his eyes wild. He nearly runs smack into Booth, and a flush of relief spreads across his face as he spots them.

"Where is she?" he demands, his breath short. "Is she okay? Did she get in okay? Are there doctors with her? Did the—the baby?"

"Calm down," Booth tells him, raising an amused eyebrow. "She's fine. The doctors just took her away."

Hodgins lets out a breath in a whoosh, relief suffusing his features. "Okay…okay, good. Good. Right? She'll be okay, right?"

"She'll be fine," Booth assures him, clapping him on the back. "Nothing we can do about it now."

"Right." Hodgins takes a deep breath, then another. "Uh, okay. So what? We just wait?"

"That's what I did when Rebecca was having Parker," Booth says. "Let's find the waiting room."

"Waiting room?" Hodgins glances at Booth and shakes his head. "No way. I'm not waiting in those plastic hospital chairs. Let me find the doctor's lounge or something."

He heads off, and Booth exchanges a glance with Brennan. "He honestly expects the doctors to just welcome us into their lounge with open arms?" Booth asks skeptically.

"He _did_ fund the orthopedic wing," Brennan informs him. "And the cardiology wing. I think he co-sponsored the oncology wing too."

Booth misses a step, his expression incredulous. After a moment, he recovers from his surprise and catches up with her again. "Wow. It's not every day you find out your friend owns half a hospital. Why didn't I know this before?"

Brennan shrugs. "You just haven't been listening much, I guess. And it isn't surprising; Hodgins is a multi-millionaire. He's bound to have funded some public projects, and a hospital is as good a place to sponsor as any."

"I can't even sponsor my own house," Booth mutters.

They find the hospital director's office, where the director welcomes Hodgins warmly, reassures him that Angela will have the best care, and sets them up in their own separate lounge on the third floor. Hodgins paces a rut into the floor as Booth makes coffee and Brennan takes a seat on the couch. They sit in uncomfortable, tense silence until Hodgins mutters that he needs to get out for some fresh air and nearly sprints out the door.

"He's nervous," Brennan observes.

Booth shrugs, sipping his coffee. "Give him a break. I'm sure I was that jumpy when Parker was being born too." He takes off his suit jacket and loosens his tie in a way that makes her automatically avert her eyes, her mouth suddenly dry. Annoyance surges within her at the reaction. _Stop it. This is no time for that._ But she can't help but swallow when he tugs at his collar absently as he sets his cup of coffee on the counter.

"It was like this when Parker was born, you know," Booth says after a moment. He seems to feel the need to fill the silence, and she's glad for it; the silence is making her uncomfortable.

"Like what?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Hectic. Terrifying. I was in panic mode the whole time, right up until they let me see Rebecca and the baby." He chuckles a little and comes to sit next to her on the couch, close but not touching. "And then we got home and it was all panic mode again. I was so afraid Parker was going to stick his finger in a wall socket or drown himself in the bathtub."

She smiles at the thought of Booth rushing around his apartment after a crawling Parker, herding his son away from walls and every little potentially dangerous object. "You're a great father."

He grins at her. "Thanks, Bones. For what it's worth, you'd be a great mom too."

_A great mom._ His words startle her. It's been a long time since she's thought about having children of her own, and the idea seems foreign all over again. Was it just a couple of years ago that she asked to have Booth's child? And now everything has changed. What she wanted once is now unthinkable. She doesn't see herself with children anymore, not now, not ever. Things have shifted, changed. Changed for good, she thinks.

"Thank you," she says after a pause. To keep the silence from settling again, she adds, "How is Parker?"

Booth smiles. "He's fine. Great. Did I tell you he won second place in the science fair? He's turning into a regular old squint like you, Bones."

She smiles too at the thought of it. "I'm glad he shows an interest in science. It's a good field."

"Maybe he'll grow up to meet his own FBI consultant," Booth muses, a grin playing on his lips. "Maybe he'll be in a partnership just like ours, with this girl FBI agent. Wouldn't that be funny?"

"Quite coincidental," she says.

"If that happens, I hope they're great friends," Booth says. "Just like we are. I mean, friendships like these don't come around every lifetime, Bones. We've got something special, you know."

"I know," she murmurs, and she does. She does know.

Booth nods and hums to himself for a moment before saying, "I wonder if it'll be a boy or a girl."

She pauses in confusion at his sudden topic change. "Angela's baby?"

He nods. "Yeah. Boy or girl, do you know? She didn't get a sonogram beforehand, did she?"

Leaning back into the couch, she shakes her head. "Angela wanted it to be a surprise. She said if it was a boy, they'd name it Jack, after Hodgins."

"And if it's a girl?" Booth prompts.

"Temperance. Angela told me one day that she'd name the girl Temperance." Brennan smiles at the memory of it. "Probably as a middle name, since she said it's a terrible name for a child."

"It's not terrible," Booth protests. "Temperance. I think it's great. Temperance. _Temperance._ Flows off the tongue, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," she says, a thrill shooting automatically through her gut. There's something in the way he says her real name that has always sent a shiver through her, a shiver of strange longing and want. She didn't understand it once, and she doesn't want to understand it now.

"Temperance," he says again. "I think it's a beautiful name. Nice and calm. Moderate, you know?"

"That's what my name means," she says with a quiet laugh.

Leaning on the back of the couch like she is, he turns his head slightly and looks at her. She watches as his eyes trace her face, her lips, before meeting her own gaze. Something unreadable in his eyes makes her breath hitch slightly.

"Temperance," he says again, almost whisper this time. "I think it's beautiful." He hesitates for a long moment, and she can see he wants to say something. Their eyes catch and hold, and there's such strength, such force in his gaze that she can't breathe properly. It's completely irrational, but she feels suddenly as if her lungs have halved in size. It's a feeling she's endured often ever since she and Booth became partners.

"I think _you're_ beautiful," he says at last, in a rush. A light flush spreads across his cheeks, whether of embarrassment or lust she doesn't know. But it makes her heart leap in response either way.

"Booth…" She glances away, embarrassed and worried. Worried where this is headed.

He glances at her and looks away again, regret spreading across his face. "Sorry," he says, shifting uncomfortably. He moves slightly away from her, his gaze pinned on the vase of flowers on the coffee table in front of them. "Sorry. Pretend I didn't say anything."

And she realizes suddenly that he's just as afraid as she is of ruining the tentative friendship they've rebuilt between them. He's just as afraid of crossing that line and breaking those barriers, of maybe going so far that they won't ever be able to get back. It gives her courage to know that she isn't alone in her cautiousness and fear about their partnership.

"It's okay," she says, more at ease now that she recognizes her apprehension reflected in him. "It's fine, Booth. There's no harm in giving compliments."

Slowly, a smile spreads across his face. "That's okay, then?"

"Friends compliment each other, don't they?"

His smile widens, and he glances at her again. "Yeah, they do. They do."

She nods confidently. "So thank you for the compliment, Booth. I think you're very structurally pleasing as well."

At that, he laughs aloud, rolling his eyes as he does so. "That doesn't qualify as a compliment, Bones. You're going to have to use the word _handsome._ Or maybe _hot_. Or _gorgeous_; that works too."

"That's hardly accurate," she argues. "You should be flattered that I would take the time to describe you scientifically rather than use banal colloquial terms."

He snorts. '"Banal colloquial terms?' So what if they're overused? Doesn't mean a guy doesn't like to hear them."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. If it makes you're happy, I think you're quite handsome. And hot. And gorgeous too, for good measure."

He beams at her, flashing her one of those radiant charm smiles of his that makes her heart skip a beat. "Aww, Bones, I didn't think you'd actually say that. See? That's a whole lot better than a bunch of 'you have a symmetrical face' and 'your jawbone is quite well-defined according to evolutionary standards.'"

"I never actually said that last one," she tells him. "Although your jaw _is_ quite well-defined."

"Thanks, Bones," Booth chuckles. "I like your jaw too. And your zygomatic arch. And your maxilla."

She eyes him appraisingly. "I'm impressed."

"It's been almost seven years, Bones. It'd be sad if I _didn't_ pick up something here and there." He makes a face. "But seriously, it's sort of ridiculous to compliment people like that."

"How?" she asks, mystified.

Booth thinks for a moment before he turns to her, eyes dark. "Hey, Bones," he says huskily, leaning in close. The throatiness of his voice startles her and makes her breath catch. His voice dropping to a whisper, he murmurs with a completely straight face, "I think your femurs are sexy."

She snorts. And then chuckles. And then laughs, because hearing Booth say that is so absurd and strange that she can't help but snicker. Booth cracks a smile, and then succumbs to the laughter too, and soon they're leaning up against each other, laughing not so much because Booth's words were hysterical but because it feels so good to laugh together.

"I think your ulnas are sexy," Brennan manages, and that sets them off again. She leans into Booth's shoulder, shaking with laughter, and he leans back. Somehow, suddenly, their foreheads are nearly touching, and she's disregarding any and all alarms in her head. The chuckles slowly die away, and they're left like that, heads nearly touching, noses a few inches apart. He locks eyes with her, and she feels as if his gaze is endless. She could drown in it, she thinks irrationally. She could fall in and never, ever reach the bottom of his eyes.

He opens his mouth slightly, and then shuts it again. They stare at each other, barely breathing. After another moment, he licks his lips and determination solidifies in his eyes. She's afraid but strangely impatient to hear what he's about to say.

"Bones," he says lowly, "I'm not going to lie. I really want to kiss you right now."

Her breath feels frozen in her lungs, and her heart thuds a rapid rhythm against her chest. For a long minute, she looks right back at him, unable to tear her eyes away. She can see the sincerity and the desire in his eyes, and she can't decide whether she's terrified or angry or eager, or maybe all three. She doesn't want to care for him. She doesn't want to make herself vulnerable to him again, because above all, she doesn't want to be hurt. But at that moment, she just wants to be held. Angela's words echo in her mind, and she just wants to feel wanted, to know that she isn't a robot incapable of human feeling. To know that someone wants her.

So she dips her head and catches his lips with hers.

* * *

Heaven. That's all there is to it. Kissing Bones is like a slice of heaven. It _is_ a slice of heaven, and he'll be damned if he doesn't enjoy it. Even if he's shocked out of his mind that Bones would initiate a kiss, even if he's confused as hell as to _why_ she would initiate a kiss, he'll take it. So he presses back against her like he's been dreaming of for days on end and kisses her for all he's worth. He kisses her like she's the only woman on earth, like there's nothing else in the world but her. He kisses her like she's the most precious thing on earth, like she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. All of it is true, and he kisses that into her too. He kisses her until he's dizzy and giddy with all sorts of feelings.

She pulls back from him with a gasp, and he pants in air too, staring at her. God, what has he done to deserve this? To deserve _her? _And suddenly he's brave, brave, brave, and without thinking, he says, "I love you, Bones. God, I love you."

And, just like that, she freezes. Everything in his head, all the feelings, all the exploding happiness, screeches to a halt, and he _knows._ He knows he's stepped over the line, over that invisible border.

God_damn_ it.

She pulls away from him, and he grabs her wrist. "Wait, Bones, please. What—what did I do? Is it what I said?"

He said too much, didn't he? He's spooked her, goddamn it. It was too early, and he spooked her.

"Please, Bones," he tries desperately as she stands and backs rapidly toward the door. He leaps up and reaches for her, an ache in his chest. "Please." He can't say anything else. He doesn't know how to fix this.

Her eyes are flat. Flat in a way that terrifies him. Something—_something—_has hit her hard, and all her walls have been thrown up. All those damn walls.

"Please," he says, one last time. He holds her eyes for a split second, barely a moment.

She disappears through the doors before he can say anything more.

* * *

**I get the feeling you guys hate me now. I'll fix them, I promise! Reviews always help, you know. **

**Oh, and thoughts on Brennan's argument with Angela? I'm getting a horrible OOC vibe that I hope isn't too blaring. How was it? **


	11. The Beginning of the Break

**Disclaimer: As always, not mine.**

* * *

**The Beginning of the Break**

"Bones, it's Booth. Pick up. Please. I…I need to talk to you. And I need to tell you I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry."

* * *

"Bones? It's Booth again. Where are you?"

* * *

"Bones? It's Booth. I, uh…listen, will you just call me back?"

* * *

"Bones?"

* * *

"Bones. I just wanted to check on you again. You haven't called me back. Are you okay? Where are you? About…about before, I'm sorry. It's just that I…I wanted to…I wasn't trying to…Damn it."

* * *

"Bones, it's Booth again. It's been a day and a half. I'm starting to get worried. Please, if you have any consideration for me at all, just call me back. Please."

* * *

"Bones? Seriously, I'm going crazy here. It's been two days. I'm coming over if you don't call me back."

* * *

"Bones…I'm trying. Can't you tell I'm trying? I'm trying to give you space, and you're making it hard. I heard from Cam that you came to work late today. You knew I was going to drop by in the morning, didn't you? You're avoiding me. Don't do that. Please. I…I can't fix it if you don't talk to me. Please."

* * *

"Bones, I haven't seen or heard from you in four days. Will you please, _please_ just call me back?"

* * *

"Bones, goddamn it, call me back, or I swear to God I'll—"

* * *

"Hey, Bones. Listen, I'm sorry about the last message, I just…Yeah, call me back."

* * *

"Bones. Listen. I'm sorry. I was a huge idiot on Monday, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should have known, but I was just stupid. If it means anything, I take back what I said. So please, let's just pretend it didn't happen, okay? Can't we just go back to normal? Can't we still be friends?"

* * *

"On your doorstep right now, Bones. I've been standing here for two and a half hours. It's almost midnight, and I'm almost a hundred percent sure you're not inside. Cam tells me you left the Jeffersonian at six. Where are you?"

* * *

"Bones, remember when I told you about when Parker was born and I was in panic mode? Yeah, well I'm in _panic mode_ right now, and if you don't call me back, I swear I'm going to sit on your doorstep until you get home or until I turn to stone right here. Please, Bones."

* * *

"Bones. Please."

* * *

"Bones, this is my last message, I swear. I get that you probably don't want to talk to me right now. Call me back, that's all I'm asking. I won't pick up, I promise. Just call me to let me know you're okay."

_

* * *

_

Ring. Ring.

"Hello?" His voice, breathless, hopeful.

She feels her breath hitch in annoyance and surprise. "You said you wouldn't pick up," she accuses.

"Sorry. Sorry. Reflex."

"I'm fine, Booth," she says, as evenly as she can manage. "So stop calling me."

"Wait! Bones, wait! Please."

She hesitates at the clear plaintiveness in his voice. Somehow, no matter how angry or irritated she feels at him, he can always make her pause.

"I'm sorry," he says in a rush. "About kissing you. I'm sorry."

Clenching the phone, she swallows hard. How can he be so perceptive about some things and so oblivious to others? _That isn't what I ran from, Booth, _she thinks, half-coldly, half-angrily. Aloud, she answers, "Thank you. I have to go."

"Bones, wait—"

_Click._

* * *

Brennan goes to work early in the morning and doesn't come home until past midnight. She works because it takes her mind off of what happened and because it's easier to keep her walls up when she doesn't think about Booth.

She lets Cam handle the casework with Booth. She lets Sweets or Hodgins be liaison if they need something from the FBI. She just can't bring herself to face him.

So she avoids him. She doesn't return his calls. She doesn't frequent their usual dining spots. She has them send the bodies to the lab instead of going to the scene to examine them herself. She's terrified of facing him. Luckily, thankfully, he seems to sense this. She has never been more grateful to him as she is now. He just _knows_ what she needs—he's always seemed to know—and right now, what she needs is space and time to think. And he gives it to her as well as he knows how.

She's angry that he said those three little words. It's irrational, really, that such sparse verbal communication—just eight letters—can affect her like this. It's stupid and illogical, and she knows how badly she's overreacting. But she can't help it. Like Booth told her once, you feel what you feel, and there's nothing you can do to change that. She can't change how she feels, no matter how badly she wants to.

And she feels hurt. And angry. And betrayed. Because there _is_ no such thing as love in this world—hasn't he proved that to her more than once?—and he had the gall to throw those words in her face like they'd fix everything. Like she'd leap into his arms and laugh away the past and everything that has happened with Hannah and even before Hannah. He says those words so lightly, and he expects her to take him seriously? He expects her to—to—

To _what?_ What the hell does he expect from her? She's so tired of trying to follow his feelings and his tangled logic. He wants to have sex with her; that's obvious enough. But he wants to love her too, even when she doesn't believe in that. And she can't take that from him, can't take him saying _I love you_ and knowing it's a lie every time. Because love is just a combination of chemical reactions within the body coupled with physical desire and lust, and love like Booth defines it doesn't exist. _It doesn't exist._

But most of all, she avoids him because she's confused, and she hates being confused. She's confused that despite everything, she can't forget the feel of his lips. She's confused because that look in his eyes right before he kissed her still makes her shiver, even in recollection. She's confused because as confused and angry and hurt as she is, she still wants him. She still wants him.

_Why?_

* * *

The hospital room is exploding with balloons and cards and stuffed animals. Brennan laughs a little as she walks through the doors, batting away a wayward bear-shaped balloon.

"Hodgins?" she asks in amusement, eyeing the elaborately-decorated room. Flowers are everywhere, as are little gift bags and gift baskets.

Angela, sitting up in the bed, rolls her eyes and replies, "Who else? I'm telling him to get rid of all those flowers because I think Allison is allergic."

Drawing up close to the bed, Brennan leans over to peer into the baby's tiny, pink face. She smiles as Allison's clear blue eyes focus on her own with babyish curiosity. "She's beautiful."

Angela beams. "Isn't she? Aren't her eyes just the prettiest things?"

"They're Hodgins' eyes," Brennan comments, smiling. "They're very pretty."

"Allison Temperance Hodgins-Montenegro," Angela sighs after a moment. "It isn't very artistic, and it doesn't flow at all. Dang it."

"I'm sorry," Brennan says apologetically. "My name doesn't sound very good in there."

Angela waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, it's not your name that's the problem. I always wanted to name my kid Allison, and sticking in Temperance was kind of overloading it. But I love you, sweetie, and I wanted to show it. Besides, it's a hugely better middle name than mine is. Not nearly as embarrassing."

Yes, well, Brennan can't argue with that. So she just smiles again and sits down in the plastic hospital chair next to the bed, watching Angela interact with her baby. It's hard to believe that the child in Angela's arms is a mix of her best friend and her entomologist friend.

"So where's Booth?" Angela asks conversationally. But there's a furtive look in her eyes that gives Brennan the idea that the artist has brought up the topic on purpose. Damn it.

"He's fine," she answers carefully.

Angela's eyes narrow. "You're not still feeling weird about him breaking up with Hannah, are you?" At Brennan's silence, she sighs and her expression softens. "Listen, about the other day, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it. You're one of the most caring, deep person I know. You just don't show it that well."

Brennan smiles and says a bit awkwardly, "Thank you. And I'm sorry too, for getting angry. You were…you were right about some of it. Some things needed to be said." _Needed to be heard._

Angela smiles a bit more readily this time. "So?"

She stares back in confusion. "So what?"

"So where is he?" Angela demands, clearly exasperated. "You said those things needed to be heard. Well? Did you confront him? Did something happen?"

_Did something happen?_

Yes. No. Nothing. Everything. Something.

"I think he's just feeling a bit worn-out from the last case," Brennan lies. "I'm sure he'll be in to visit you later."

Angela grins. "Good. I can't wait to show him Allison. She's so adorable!" She holds out her finger and tickles her daughter's nose, her face lighting up with delight when Allison gurgles. After a moment, Angela glances back up at her and adds, "So you're okay with him? I mean, you guys are friends again?" She smiles a bit wickedly and says, "I guess having you two hook up would be too much to hope for right now."

Brennan swallows, because that had almost, _almost_ happened. She has no doubt that if she'd allowed Booth to say those words without running, if she had stayed, they'd have ended up in bed one way or another. The thought makes her shiver with unwelcome, unwelcome desire, followed by disgust at her thoughts, at her weakness. Somehow, no matter what she thinks and feels, she still wants him. She probably always will. But she should be stronger than this.

"We're friends," she answers vaguely. At least, they had been friends before. She isn't sure what they are now.

Angela grins. "Good. It's good to see my words had _some_ effect."

Some effect. Maybe. If anything, it has startled Brennan into reality: that even her closest friends believe that she can't or has a hard time expressing feelings. She's always thought her emotions are transparent to those who know her best (after all, Booth _always_ seems to know what she's thinking and feeling), but apparently not. And maybe it's better this way, so Booth won't press her when she's trying to sort out the chaos in herself. If he doesn't see all the hurt, all the anger, maybe he just won't press her, and it'll all go away on its own.

She knows it's irrational. Cause and effect. If the problem vanishes, there will be a cause. Otherwise, it will stagnate. Painfully.

She shakes her head and changes the subject. "So, Angela, did the doctors say when you could leave?"

Angela nods happily. "They're going to discharge me in another day. Apparently, the policy says I'm allowed to leave forty-eight hours after the birth."

"That's good. You're going back to Hodgins' house then?"

"_Our_ house, sweetie." Angela leans back into the pillows and sighs, gazing down at her daughter. "This is so surreal. I'm not kidding. You just can't imagine it until you're sitting here in the bed, staring down at this—this—"

"Offspring?" Brennan supplies helpfully.

Angela snorts and rolls her eyes. "_Baby._ You just can't imagine it."

No, she can't imagine it. She doesn't even know how to _begin_ to imagine it.

They sit there in comfortable silence for another long while, Angela admiring Allison and Brennan moving the flower baskets away every time the little girl sneezes. They coo over how cute Allison is, and for an hour, Brennan forgets Booth entirely.

Angela glances up at the clock suddenly and exclaims, "It's nearly one o'clock, sweetie! Aren't you supposed to be at the Jeffersonian?"

Brennan smiles and shakes her head. "I told Cam I'd be visiting you, and she told me to take as much time as I needed."

Angela grins. "Yeah, because friends having babies don't happen every day, you know."

Brennan stares at her quizzically. "Approximately three hundred eighty-four thousand people are born per day, Angela. So technically, _someone's_ friend is having a baby every day."

"Oh, sometimes I love it when you totally miss the point," Angela laughs. "Your scientific spew isn't too great of a bedside manner, but I have to admit, it's sometimes funny."

Brennan manages a grin in return and asks, "Where's Hodgins? I thought he'd be here."

"Oh, Lord." Angela shakes her head and chuckles in half-exasperation, half-amusement. "Don't get me _started_ on Jack. He's more of a mess than I was about giving birth. I thought he was going to give himself a heart attack and end up in the hospital bed next to me. He's been hovering every second of every minute, and frankly, it got a little too much. I told him I wanted some lunch that didn't come on a plastic tray, so he went out." She turns, glances at the clock, and frowns. "Actually, it's been a while. I wonder where he is."

At that moment, the door opens and Hodgins struggles through, his arms laden with a bag of takeout and other parcels. Brennan hurries to take some of the bags from him as Angela stares, her eyes wide.

"Jack!" she groans, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Don't tell me…"

Hodgins grins over the packages in his arms. "I just couldn't help myself. I went out and bought some stuff."

"_Some?"_ Angela echoes in disbelief. "Don't you think there's a rule against having more presents than space in a hospital room?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Frankly, Angie, I don't think the hospital gives a damn. Not if they still want enough funding to renovate their ophthalmology wing for the third time." He holds up the bag of takeout and adds, "I brought lunch."

Brennan sets down the bags she took from Hodgins and smiles at the two of them. "I guess I should be going."

Angela sits forward abruptly, waving her free hand. "Don't leave yet. I'm sure Jack bought enough for us all." She eyes the bulging bag of food with a raised eyebrow.

Hodgins smiles sheepishly. "I thought you'd be hungry. At least there's enough for Dr. Brennan now too."

So, with a smile, Brennan pulls up another chair and settles on Angela's right side. They open the cartons of takeout and inhale loudly as the aroma rises with the steam.

"I'm starving," Angela groans. "Feed me, will you? I doubt Allison would like it if I put her down."

Hodgins leans over and smiles down at his daughter. "How's my little Allie? How's my little girl? That's right. Aren't you just the cutest—"

"_Hungry_ here," Angela pouts. But she's smiling as she does, and after a moment, she stares down at her child too, the both of them immersed in a shared love for what they have created.

Sitting uncomfortably to the side, Brennan feels as if she's intruding on a private moment. She's trying to figure out a polite way to excuse herself when the door behind her opens. With a small grin of relief, she turns in her seat.

And stops, frozen, when she catches sight of who stands at the door.

In the doorway, Booth doesn't look shocked at all to see her. He looks relieved and pleased, and that's how she knows he's planned this.

Damn it. She'd thought she'd have more of her thoughts organized the next time she saw him. As she is now, she's no closer to composing herself than she was when he'd kissed her.

Angela and Hodgins look up, and Angela's face lights up. "Hey, Booth! Haven't seen you yet. Come over here and meet Allison."

Booth's eyes linger on Brennan's face for a moment before she looks away, cheeks heating. She hopes fervently that he can't see the pink across the room. Quietly, he crosses over to Angela and Hodgins without looking at her again.

"She's beautiful," Booth says, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his face. "Really. She's got your eyes, Hodgins."

"And Angela's chin," Hodgins enthuses. "And Angela's nose and forehead. Come to think of it, the only thing she has of mine is her eyes, isn't it?"

"I'm sure you'll find more things that you have in common with her later," Booth says. "Once she grows up a little. Parker looked nothing like me as a baby and now look at him."

She figures it's as good of a time as any to make her escape. "Well," she says hurriedly, rising and gathering her coat in her arms, "it's getting late. I really should be getting to the Jeffersonian."

She knows having Booth just stay there and leave her alone is too much to hope for, and she's right. He starts after her almost immediately, saying casually, "I'll go with you."

She stops and turns back in the doorway, her eyes focused vaguely over his shoulder but not on his face. "You don't have to, Booth. I'll be fine."

He smiles transparently and holds up a file in his hand. "I actually wanted to talk to you about some details on the case. You know, the one where the wife killed her husband's lover."

There's not a single thing he should need to speak to her about on the case. She knows that. She provided all the facts needed to close the case and more—the murder weapon, the suspects, the location, even the motive. He doesn't need to speak to her about anything, which means the case is just an excuse to find her and talk to her.

An excuse she can't call him on, because Angela and Hodgins are sitting curiously behind them, watching the scene unfold. She wants to tell Booth no, that she'll be fine (that she hasn't had enough time to calm herself, damn it), but she dreads another confrontation with Angela. So she pastes a smile on her face and says, "All right. Let's go."

She doesn't miss the relief that flashes across his face as he follows her out the door. Once they're a sufficient distance away from Angela's room, though, she stops and hears Booth stop uncertainly behind her.

"This is far enough," she says coolly. "I can go the rest of the way on my own."

"But I need to talk to you about the case," Booth protests, holding up the folder.

"Then that wasn't an excuse to talk to me?" she asks, eyes narrowing.

He opens his mouth and pauses. Then, sheepishly, he lowers the folder and runs a hand through his hair. "Okay, so it was. But I need to talk to you, Bones. I haven't seen you all week."

"There's a _reason_ for that," she says, starting to walk again. Booth hurries after her, but she stares resolutely straight ahead.

"Okay, I get you're avoiding me," he says. "But _please_, Bones, hear me out. Let's just talk a little, okay?"

"No," she answers without looking at him. They pass through the automatic doors of the hospital into the cold wintery air beyond. She pauses only to remember where she parked her car and then continues to the parking lot at a rapid pace, hoping he'll stop chasing her.

But when has Booth _ever_ stopped chasing her when it's important?

_When you told him not to,_ a snide voice reminds her. _When you told him to let go, to move on, and he did. He did._

He did. And that's what hurts the most.

"Bones. _Please._" He's just a couple of steps behind her, his footsteps echoing on the asphalt. "I know what I did…well, I'm sorry for it. I'm sorry. But do you _have_ to be so cold? Can't we talk?"

_Cold._ He doesn't understand, does he? He doesn't get that if she _isn't_ cold, she'll break. Being cool and logical is the only way she can keep herself together long enough to build up those walls again. Build up those walls and shut away those emotions she hates feeling.

Ignoring his plea, she reaches her car and reaches for the door, but Booth grabs her arm. "Bones, seriously. I know what I said was stupid, and neither of us were ready for it, but you should at least hear me out. It's the least you could do, Bones. Haven't we been friends for long enough that we can talk it out when something goes wrong?"

No, they can't talk. Not yet, at least. She knows, she just _knows,_ that if they talk now, she won't be able to hold all her feelings back. She'll end up furious and hurt and _vulnerable._ Open for him to hurt her again. And she can't let that happen.

"Please, Booth," she says quietly, the coldness gone. She stares at the window of her car, where she can just barely see his reflection in it. "Please. I just need time. Just some time."

They stand there, suspended, in the cold afternoon, their quiet breaths the only sounds breaking the silence. She senses with some dread that he's going to press her, that he's going to insist. But some part of her also knows that Booth is too much of a gentleman to force her when she's not ready. He, of all people, has always known where her limits are.

When she hears him sigh softly behind her, she knows she's won. Relief stronger than she'd anticipated rushes through her, and she realizes at that moment just how apprehensive she'd been of Booth confronting her. But it's okay now. He's holding off, giving her more time to think. Giving her time to build her walls up stronger and higher.

"Put on your coat, Bones," he says finally, sounding resigned. "You're going to freeze to death."

She realizes she's just holding her coat instead of wearing it, so she hurriedly slips into the sleeves but doesn't turn around. She can make out his expression in the reflection of the car window, his brow furrowed and his expression frustrated but accepting. He won't push her.

Gratitude swells suddenly in her, and she wonders how she can be so grateful and so hurt and angry with the same man at the same time. Booth has always confused her, and this time, it's no different.

Inexplicably, she feels guilty for putting that expression on his face. She feels guilty for hurting him at all, so she says in a weak attempt of her normal logical voice, "The human body freezes solid at below thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit, Booth. It's at least forty degrees right now."

Her voice isn't very close to the usual cool logic, but Booth smiles all the same. He smiles in a way that says he knows she's trying and he appreciates it. It warms her a bit to know that she can still make him smile that way even when they're standing uncomfortably in a silence stretched tight with tension.

"Okay, Bones," he says quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His eyes catch hers for a moment, warm and dark, and he nods to her with a small smile. "I'll see you later then."

She nods too and opens the car door. She starts to slide into the seat when Booth says behind her, "You'll call me, won't you? When you're ready, I mean."

He wants a promise from her, a promise not to keep running but to face this some time. To face _him _again some time.

Well, she can promise him that. She isn't skilled at reading emotions or even feeling them, but she knows that something like this can't be outrun through sheer will. One day, one time, she will have to look at Booth and explain it all.

But not today. Not today.

"I'll call you," she says, not missing the way his shoulders relax ever-so-slightly in response.

"Okay. I'll see you then." He raises a hand in goodbye as she backs out of the parking lot.

When she looks in her rearview mirror at the corner of the street, he's still standing there, watching her car. Then she turns the corner and he's gone.

* * *

He doesn't want to go back to his dark, empty apartment. He doesn't want to drop by the Jeffersonian either—well, he wants to (God knows he wants to), but _Bones_ doesn't want him to. And that's reason enough for now to not get within a two-mile radius of the place. He definitely doesn't look forward to spending the night at the Hoover filling out mind-numbingly tedious forms, so he decides to go out for a drink. It's been a long enough time since he's done that alone, and his situation will probably improve after he's knocked back a few. So he turns his SUV into the nearest bar (one he knows Bones would never frequent) and enters the warm, dim-lit building.

It's a nice enough place that Booth's visited a couple of times before. He slides onto a barstool and catches the bartender's eye to ask for a beer. The man pops open a bottle for him and sets it on the bar. With a sigh, Booth takes a sip and sets the drink down again, lost in thought.

She'd looked gorgeous today. All jeans and informal clothing, right down to her fuzzy boots, the same ones she wore to the aquarium. She'd also looked utterly terrified of seeing him there in the hospital. He'd seen the shock and fear flash in her eyes as she'd spotted him, and it had hurt. Because he doesn't know _what_ she's afraid of—him or what he did? What he's done or what he might do?

He'd been so sure he'd be able to force her to listen to him. He'd brought along the case files as a cover and stalked after her as confident as could be. And then she'd turned that quiet, edgily desperate voice of hers on him, and all his resolve had turned to mush. God knows he can never hold his own against her when she sounds so tired and worn, when her voice makes his heart tug.

But at least she's promised to call him. She isn't going to ignore him forever, and that's a start.

He mulls over the situation for a long while, thinking more than drinking, and by the time he's spent an hour there, he hasn't gotten very far with either his problem or his drink. So much for forgetting tonight. He probably won't get past this beer, let alone another one.

With a sigh, he slides off the barstool and shakes his head, trying to clear it of Bones. Not that it helps; Bones will never be far from his mind. So, with another sigh, he heads for the door.

He's stopped halfway there by a hand on his arm and someone exclaiming, "Wait!" Startled, he turns to find a young woman at his elbow, her eyes bright.

"Yes?" he asks warily. He really isn't in the mood for flirting tonight (or any night, now that he thinks about it, unless Bones is the one doing the flirting).

"Are you—are you an FBI agent?" the woman asks, her expression eager.

Booth nods slowly, wondering where this is going. "Special Agent Seeley Booth." He pushes aside his coat so she can catch sight of his badge.

"You handled a case in a bar not too far from here, didn't you?" she asks. "It was called Golden Palace. About a—"

"A brawl," he says. "I remember." Of course he remembers. He still has no idea what happened to Bones there, and until he does, how can he forget?

The woman smiles excitedly. "The man who was in the brawl? I was his girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend now. What I wanted to know was if you remember the name of the woman in the fight? Any information on her would be helpful."

_Remember her? I'm freaking in love with her. _

Aloud he says warily, "Why do you want to know?"

"I want to thank her," the woman says simply. "She saved my life, I'm sure of it. Fred—my ex-boyfriend—wasn't a bad guy, but he has a temper. I don't know what would've happened if that woman hadn't jumped in."

Oh. Of course. Booth gives her a friendly smile and answers, "Sure, I can get you in touch with her. What was your name again?"

"April Collins," the woman replies. "If you could just give me her phone number or something…"

But Booth has a better idea. He's gone months without knowing what really went down in the bar, and here's the perfect chance of finding out what exactly hit Bones so hard. Here's a witness, probably absolutely willing to tell him everything he wants to know. Who can say no to a federal agent, after all?

So he nods to a nearby booth and says, "Do you want to talk a little? We can get some drinks."

After a moment of hesitation, April nods, and they settle in the booth. After ordering their drinks, April leans forward in her seat and says, "So could you pull up the case files on that woman or something? That way you can get me her phone number. Just a call to her would be fine, I think."

"The woman you met in the bar?" Booth answers. "She's actually my partner, so I know her pretty well. I'll let her know that you want to talk." He folds his arms, elbows on the table, and leans forward. "In return, I'd like to ask you some questions."

April looks vaguely unsettled. "What? Like an investigation?"

Booth shakes his head quickly to assuage her fears. "No, nothing like that. It's just that my partner hasn't been too big on telling me what happened, and I still don't really know any specifics. It'd help if you could just fill me in on the details."

When she doesn't answer immediately, Booth locks eyes with her and drops his voice a little, letting concern flash across his features. "Please. I'm worried about her. She's been acting weird, and I think it has something to do with what happened. Help me help my partner."

It's only a _tiny_ manipulation on his part, because it's all true anyway. He holds her eyes until she sighs and looks away.

"Okay. What do you want to know?"

"All I know is that Fred got aggressive and Bones—my partner, Temperance Brennan—intervened. She says that's all that happened, but I don't believe her." He turns a questioning look on her and waits.

"Well, that's not _all _that happened," April acknowledges slowly. "Fred and…Bones?"

"Temperance," Booth supplies.

"Fred and Temperance had a conversation first. Well, actually, it was more of a shout-out than a conversation."

"A shout-out?" Booth repeats, interested. "About what?"

April sighs. "I was…well, Fred and I were fighting because he'd just broken up with me. Temperance was a little ways behind Fred, so I could see her over his shoulder. Anyway, I was really upset about it—the next week would have been our six-month anniversary—and Fred and I got worked up. I was in tears about it, and I shouted at him. Then Temperance came over and—"

"Do you remember what you said to him?" Booth interrupts. His investigator's instinct tells him that it's important.

April's brow furrows as she thinks. "Well, I don't remember exactly, but it was something along the lines of Fred betraying me. He'd told me earlier that he'd never leave me, and I felt so hurt by him up and leaving all of a sudden. He'd _promised._" She gives a little, bitter laugh. "But I guess it was all just a tactic to reel me in."

_He'd told me earlier he'd never leave me._ Booth wonders why that would strike Bones so hard. She can't have…she can't have thought Booth had left her, can she? Because he's made that same promise to her so many times, but he's never left her. Ever. And he never will.

"Keep going," he says. "What happened next?"

"Well, Fred told her to butt out of his business." A slight flush spreads across her cheeks, and she adds, "With more colorful words, but you get the gist of it."

"Yeah, I do. Keep going."

"Temperance told him really calmly to back away. She said something about men and hormones and evolution…?"

Booth has to hide his smile at that. Typical Bones. "Skip that part. What did she say next?"

"Fred told her not-so-nicely to get out of the way before she got hurt, and she went off on him, saying that when someone promises not to leave you, it's a promise that should be kept. I remember that part really well because I kind of got the feeling she wasn't talking about us, you know? Maybe she was hurt some time in the past like I was hurt then. It seemed personal to her."

_Personal._ A pang of unease shoots through Booth. Who does Bones think left her? It can't be him. Can't be, because he hasn't gone anywhere.

April clears her throat before continuing. "Then Fred started talking about how a promise like that isn't such a big deal. Well, it isn't a big deal to him, maybe, but it was a huge deal to me." Anger flashes across her face. "He was the only guy, you know? The only guy to tell me I was worth sticking around for. The only guy to promise to stay with me. He shouldn't—he shouldn't have broken it off like that. It was so abrupt. I hadn't seen it coming at all. One day we were a happy couple, and the next, he told me he didn't want to commit anymore. I was…"

"Understandably angry," Booth says sympathetically, reaching across the table to touch April's hand. She seems surprised, then grateful, for the contact. He methodically steers the conversation back to what he wants to know. "So what did Temperance say?"

April shrugs. "She said those promises were the most important of all. They're the ones that hurt the most when broken."

Booth swallows. "She—she said that?"

April nods. "Something like that. And I totally agree with her. I didn't really care that Fred was breaking up with me—well, I _did_ care, but it was more of the fact that he was breaking his promise. _That's_ what made me so mad. We could have stayed friends, you know? I think if he hadn't been such an ass about breaking up, we might've stayed friends, and I would've considered that keeping his promise. He'd be free to date other people, sure, but I'd want him to still be around some of the time. As friends."

"And then?"

"And then they fought." She shudders at the memory of it. "It was vicious. I didn't think Temperance would do so well against him—he's army, you know—but she did a lot better than I expected. She managed to give him almost as many bruises as he gave her."

_That's my girl,_ he thinks. He forces a smile and pulls a legal pad out of his coat pocket. "Here, give me your phone number. I'll call you when Temperance wants to meet."

"Meet?" April repeats, sounding surprised and nervous. "I thought I'd just call…"

Booth shrugs. "That's fine too. Just write down some contact information, and I'll get back to you."

She scribbles down a number and email address obediently, and he tucks away the pen and paper. "Well, thanks," he says, standing. "You were a big help." He pulls out his wallet and pays for the drinks, despite her protests. With a last goodbye, he slips on his coat and leaves the bar.

He takes a slow walk down the block to sort out the tumble of thoughts in his head. Bones had mentioned the promise about never leaving her more than once. So it has to mean something. But what? He's made that same promise to her more times than he can remember, and he's meant it every time. He hasn't broken it either, but Bones clearly thinks he has.

_She said those promises were the most important of all. They're the ones that hurt the most when broken. _

He'd somehow given her the impression that he'd left her, even when he'd promised explicitly again and again that he never would. And he'd hurt her, damn it. But _how?_ How the hell has he left her? They're still where they have been for the past seven years, still at the Jeffersonian, still partners. So what has changed?

It hits him suddenly, out of the blue. _Hannah._ That's what changed. He had Hannah, and everything had started to crumble.

_He'd be free to date other people, sure, but I'd want him to still be around some of the time. As friends._

Had Bones been thinking the same thing as April had? Booth had wanted to still be friends too—how could he leave her behind?—but he remembers suddenly with shame the months following their return to Washington D.C. He remembers how he weaned himself off Bones' company, how his daily lunch invitations turned into weekly ones, which turned into occasional ones that never lasted longer than an hour. He remembers how he'd stopped dropping by the Jeffersonian in the middle of the night to make sure Bones went home on time, and he remembers how he'd forgotten more than once to make sure she ate. He remembers with a tingle of disgust at himself how it took a brawl in the middle of the night and Bones breaking her arm for him to realize he'd ignored her for the better part of the months.

The horrible realization hits him—he _has_ left her. Not physically, but in every other way possible without actually moving away. He withdrew emotionally and personally from her to focus on Hannah, to convince himself he loved Hannah the way he had once loved Bones. And all the while, he'd broken the promise he'd made to Bones a hundred times before, the promise he'd sworn to himself he'd never break. Because she needed to know that someone cared, that for once in her life, someone would stay.

And goddamn it, he left her. Just like her parents, just like Russ, just like everyone important in her life. He left her without realizing to, and when he realized it, it was too late. Too late to fix.

He clenches his hands into fists in his coat pockets and stands stock-still on the street, just trying to breathe. He doesn't bother to fight the self-loathing because he deserves it—every bit of it. She needed him to prove that he'd stay for her, and he hadn't kept his promise to her. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

After a long moment of fighting back the urge to wheel right around and get roaring drunk, Booth exhales shakily. He knows right then that he can't let it sit anymore. Even if Bones isn't ready to talk to him, even if she won't let him into her apartment, she needs to know. She needs to know that he's so, so sorry about breaking his promise to her, to know that he's still there for her.

To know that he'll always, always be there for her.

* * *

It's late by the time she leaves the Jeffersonian that night. She's exhausted but satisfied. The anthropologists in Maluku had sent her a set of remains with a curious contusions on it, and she had been able to identify the cause and probable social status of the skeleton in question. Add that to the fact that she had been able to stave off Booth's attempts to speak with her, and it hasn't been a terrible day. But she's wholly prepared for a good, uninterrupted night's sleep.

She drives home with the radio crackling out familiar Christmas songs. With a pang of nostalgia and sadness, she remembers those long, long years ago when she spent Christmas with her entire family, her mother and father and brother. She remembers, too, the Christmas she spent with her brother and his family, and wonders if they'll do it again this year. She isn't adverse to the idea, and she already has a few Christmas gifts in mind for the girls. The next time she hears from Russ, she'll ask him about it.

She pulls up to her apartment parking lot and collects the stack of case files on her passenger seat. She plans to get a full night sleep, but in the case that she has extra time, she might look over some remains from Limbo. Slamming the car door shut, she locks the car and enters the warm building. She rides the elevator up to her floor and tries to juggle the files in one arm while reaching for her keys with the other. Stepping off the elevator, she manages to grab her keys from her coat pocket and looks up.

And for the second time that day, her breath snags in her throat, and she freezes in shock.

Booth stands on her doorstep, leaning against the wall next to her door with his head against the doorframe and his eyes closed. His hands are in his coat pockets, and he looks like he's been standing there for a while.

Her mind races. What on _earth_ is he doing here? Hadn't they agreed she'd call him when she felt ready? She'd been so sure he wouldn't push her, but…Has he changed his mind? The thought sends a bolt of panic through her, and she stands frozen in front of the elevator, wondering wildly if it's too late to step back into the elevator and escape.

When he hears the elevator ding as the doors slide shut, his eyes open, and then it's definitely too late. He blinks sleepily and turns his head, his eyes widening slightly as he catches sight of her. She feels resignation and apprehension steal over her, and she stands uncertainly in the hallway, unsure of what to say.

"Hey, Bones," he says after a moment. "Sorry about not calling. I was sure you'd avoid me if I'd called."

Absolutely she would have avoided him. If she'd known he was coming, she'd have stayed at the Jeffersonian all night.

Aloud, she asks evenly, "What are you doing here, Booth?"

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I know we agreed on waiting until you were ready, but I want to talk, Bones."

She glares at him, clenching her files tightly. "Booth—"

"I heard," he says, not quite looking at her. "I heard what happened at the bar that night."

He doesn't say anything more, but he doesn't have to. Realization dawns on her, and she looks at him with new dread. He knows what happened that night between her and Fred Knowles? Exactly _how much_ does he know? That she lost control? Well, that's obvious enough. But does he know _why_ she lost control?

"Booth," she tries, keeping her voice neutral, "I'm very tired. I worked all day, and I would really like to get some rest. So perhaps we could continue this conversation some time later."

He snorts. '"Some time later'? That means never, doesn't it?"

She doesn't say anything, which confirms his suspicions for sure. Because she _doesn't_ intend to tell him about it, not now, not ever. She just wants time to fix herself, to fix her emotions, and they can go back to being friends and partners. Like nothing happened.

But this time, Booth pushes back. "No, Bones," he says firmly. "We're going to talk. There're things I need to tell you, and things you need to hear. So we can either talk here in the hallway, or in your apartment. Your choice."

"I'm not going to talk," she says stubbornly, reaching for anger. Anger to keep the emotions at bay. "So get away from my apartment, Booth."

She pushes past him and opens her door. She tries to slam it behind her, but Booth catches it with his hand and wrenches it open.

"I can always lock myself in my bedroom," she says icily, glaring at him in her doorway. "Or jump down the fire escape. No amount of intimidation on your part is going to coerce me into answering your questions."

"That's fine," he says, surprisingly unruffled. "Then I guess we'll be locked in your bedroom or leaping down the fire escape together."

He reaches for something at his waist, and before she knows it, something cold has clicked into place around her wrist. She hears another click of locking mechanism and looks down incredulously to find that Booth has handcuffed her to his arm.

"Booth!" she snaps, angry and accusing. "You have no authority or reason whatsoever to restrain me like this. Get these handcuffs off of me."

"I have all the authority in the world," he shoots back, with an almost-smirk. "I'm the one with the gun." Before she can protest, he takes the files from her hands and half-drags her into the living room, where he sets the folders down on the coffee table. Then he flops down on the couch, obviously more at ease now that she has little realistic chance of escaping. When he yanks on his hand, she has no choice but to sit as well.

"Now, Bones," he says, serious again, "we're going to talk."

* * *

**Reviews = love = quicker updates. It's that simple. **


	12. The Break in Bones

**Wow. Wow. You guys absolutely blew me away with the response to the last chapter. Thank you so much for your continued support; it goes a long way in giving me the motivation to write more quickly. **

**Oh, and is everyone as excited for tomorrow's episode as I am? GAH! I cannot _wait_ for tomorrow to come. **

**Disclaimer: Bones is not mine. **

* * *

**The Break in Bones**

"Let's talk," Booth repeats when she doesn't say anything.

She glares at her coffee table and demands, "About what?" The near-whine in her voice makes her wince.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and sighs. "Everything, Bones. I think it's time we talked about everything."

_Everything._ She swallows. "And what does _everything_ mean?" she asks carefully.

He shakes his head. "None of that oblivious crap tonight, Bones. You aren't getting away with pretending you don't know what I mean. Everything means _everything_. Let's start with the bar and what happened that night."

She shifts slightly in her seat and forces a pleading tone. "Booth, it's hot in here. Can I take off my jacket?"

Apparently, her attempt at escape is far too obvious. Booth snorts and rolls his eyes. "It's not _that_ hot, Bones. And no, I'm not taking off the handcuffs so you can take off your jacket."

"It's at least seventy-five degrees in here," she tries, reaching for that logical voice that he can rarely argue against. "Excessive heat can lead to severe dehydration and heat stroke. Given time, the body loses its ability to cool itself, and body organs will begin to fail. Unconsciousness and coma—"

"All right, all right," he harrumphs. "Stop trying to scare me, will you?"

Before she can even smile in triumph, he yanks her up out of the seat, marches over to the thermostat on the wall, and lowers the temperature by ten degrees.

"You're wasting electricity," she protests.

"You can't have everything," he retorts. "You want to waste energy or risk unconsciousness and coma?"

Damn it. She hates it when he turns her own words back on her. So, with a glare at him, she stomps back to the couch and sits angrily.

"Technically, energy can never be wasted," she tells him through clenched teeth. "The Law of Conservation of Energy states that energy can be neither created nor destroyed. With that premise—"

"Stop it," he says firmly. Still standing, he glares right back at her. "Stop trying to stall, Bones. This is like ripping off a band-aid, okay, Bones? The faster we do it, the less painful it'll be."

As much as she hates to admit it, he's right. She _does_ want to get this over with as quickly as possible, to get Booth out of her apartment as quickly as possible. So she carefully pushes back what she can of her emotions and steadies herself in preparation for his questions.

"What do you want to know?" she asks evenly, staring straight ahead at the ancient artifact from Tibet on her mantelpiece.

But he doesn't start with a question. Instead, he says, as sincere as she's ever heard him, "I'm getting the most important things out of the way first, okay? I'm sorry, Bones. I'm so, so sorry."

She says stiffly, "You've already apologized—"

"Not for the kiss," he interrupts, "though I'm plenty sorry about that too. No, I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for leaving you, Bones."

She pauses in confusion, not quite catching his meaning. "You haven't left me, Booth. You're right here. In fact, we're quite literally closer than we've ever been." With a dry look, she holds up their shackled arms as evidence.

He doesn't even crack a smile, only shakes his head and says, "I'm serious, Bones. I've left you, and you know it. When I was…when I was with Hannah, I didn't pay nearly enough attention to you as I should have. There's a difference between being friends and cutting off all contact. I did the second one without even thinking, and I'm so sorry for it. I promised you again and again that I wasn't that guy, that I wouldn't leave you, and I did. I don't know how you'll ever forgive me."

His words, so obviously heartfelt and serious, easily break through the flimsy walls she's put up, and she already feels the turmoil of emotions again. Damn it. So soon into their conversation, and she's already confused. _Finally,_ part of her thinks. Finally, finally, he realizes what he's done. Finally, he sees. But…but it doesn't change anything, because he's right. How _can_ she ever forgive him? How can she ever trust him again? How can she trust _anyone_ again? She'd trusted Booth more than she'd ever trusted anyone after her parents and Russ, and he'd let her down. Unintentionally and maybe he regrets it now, but he let her down all the same. And she doesn't know if she'll ever recover from that.

Swallowing, she says calmly, "It's all right, Booth."

He looks at her, clearly shocked. "It's _all right?_ I say sorry and it's _all right?"_

She shrugs as nonchalantly as she can manage. "What else did you expect from me, Booth? You ask for forgiveness, and I'll give it to you. Anyway, it isn't such a big deal."

"_Isn't a big deal?"_ he echoes incredulously. He pulls her around suddenly and stares her straight in the eye with that dark, intuitive gaze of his. "You got into a huge brawl in public about it, Bones. You broke your wrist, and you nearly scared me to death, and _it's not a big deal?"_

Maybe. Maybe it's a bigger deal than she's willing to admit even to herself. But for now, she just wants Booth out of her apartment, out of her mind, so she says with a small smile, "Of course it isn't. I told you, the fight was a simple matter of Fred Knowles being aggressive toward his girlfriend. You would have done the same. Anyone would have—"

"_Stop it!"_ Before she realizes what's happened, he's yanked her close to him, his hands tight around her arms. "_Stop it_, Bones! I am tired—so goddamn _tired_—of you pretending nothing's wrong when I _know_ something's wrong. And I'm so tired of letting you run. No more, Bones. I'm done running, and so are you. So I swear to God, you are going to tell me the truth, _all_ of it, or we are going to sit here like this until you do. I don't care if it takes a hundred years for you to tell me a word. We're going to sit here for all of it."

She's shocked into silence, so shocked that for a moment, all she can do is stare back into his eyes, scrambling for her thoughts. She'd never thought—she'd never even _suspected_—Booth would push her like this. He's confronted her, he's cornered her, he's demanded answers from her, but he has always, _always_ backed off before. He has never snapped at her like this, like he means it.

She swallows hard and somehow manages to find her voice. "The truth."

"The truth," he repeats in a no-nonsense voice.

The truth. Where does she start? How much can she hold back without him noticing?

His eyes soften in the face of her obvious uncertainty, and he says more gently, "The bar. It _was_ a big deal, wasn't it? Before, when I was with Hannah, I didn't spend as much time with you. You felt like I was leaving you, didn't you? And when you saw the same thing had happened to April—the girl—you identified with her. And…" He winces and manages a small, pained smile. "And you took out the anger you had for me on poor Freddie there."

"Poor Freddie?" she murmurs, hoping to turn him off that train of thought. "He broke my wrist."

"Yeah, and for that, I ought to break his nose. But that's not the point." He releases her arms and shifts back away from her, his posture slightly less threatening. He still holds her eyes though, and she wonders if he can read the truth there like he seems to be able to read other people.

The truth. Is she ready for it? To admit it aloud, to admit it to herself?

Does she have a choice?

"I…might have felt illogically left behind," she concedes. "But those feelings were an overreaction to the situation. I had become accustomed to your constant company and reacted badly to a change."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Bones," he says. "The point is, I made you feel that way. I broke my promise, and I'm not going to take it lightly. So I'm sorry, Bones. You just need to know that."

"Okay," she says slowly. Okay. His words, as sincere as they are, haven't done much to calm the emotions roiling in her gut. The slow, quiet anger. She has yet to decide exactly _what_ he's done that she's angry about, but the feelings are there. The feelings are real.

"Okay," he repeats. "And I promise I'll be there for you next time. Any time."

She glances at him and can't help but say a bit coolly, "You _do_ realize that your credibility has been compromised."

He winces. "Yeah, I know that my promises probably don't mean much to you right now. But I swear to you, if I'd….if I'd had any idea of how you'd felt, I would've fixed it right away. I would've made it right."

Right. If she'd said something, _anything,_ he would've made it right between them? Would he have dropped Hannah if she'd asked him to? Would he have done that for her, to soothe this ache in her heart?

Hiding her skepticism, she forces a smile. "It's the thought that counts, Booth. Isn't that what they say?"

He scrutinizes her for a moment, and she holds her smile in place. He doesn't look convinced, but he says, and edge of relief and hope to his voice, "So you know that now, right? That I won't leave you? Ever, Bones. Ever."

She hears his unspoken question. _So we're okay? We'll be all right? _

Maybe. If she can ever manage to compartmentalize her feelings again, they'll be okay.

Aloud, she says lightly, "I understand. So if that's all…"

She makes to stand, but Booth pulls her back down next to him with a humorless chuckle. "Oh no, you're not getting off that easy, Bones. You know there's a whole lot more to talk about than just that."

"More?" She tries to sound surprised but falls a little short.

"More," he repeats. "I get that you were mad at me. You're _still _mad at me, and you have every reason to be. I know there's probably nothing I can ever do to make it right. To make you forget what I did."

"You could always give me a concussion," she suggests, trying to take the gravity out of his words, to keep away from the more serious feelings. "If the trauma is serious enough, I would likely have sufficient brain damage to cause amnesia." _Or death._ Either way, she'll forget. The thought isn't all that undesirable.

He grimaces, raising an eyebrow at her. "Oh yes, Bones, because the likelihood of me picking up a rock and braining you right now is _so_ great." He shakes his head and sighs. "I'm serious. I know…I know it isn't going to be like it was a couple of years ago. We can't go back to that. I've been completely oblivious to everything, to _you_, and I've just been making it worse these past weeks. With the…" He hesitates for a second, glancing at her. "With the kiss."

He's watching her with a searching look, like he's trying to assess her reaction. Even knowing this, she can't quite control the brief flicker of fear that flashes across her face. No, he doesn't want to talk about _that_, does he? Because deep down, at the heart of it, what she felt when he kissed her…that's her biggest secret of all. One that she hopes he never pries deep enough to discover.

He's too perceptive, too adept at reading her. At her slightest change in expression, he shifts back in his seat, his expression confused and worried.

"You're scared of me," he says, a statement, not a question. "You're scared of me." He sounds half-incredulous, half-afraid himself.

She's…scared of him?

The thought is so foreign, because she has always thought of Booth as safety and security. He has always been the one to support her when she needs it, to give her quiet help even when she doesn't ask for it. She has never, ever considered being frightened of him.

But, when she thinks about it, he's right. She's afraid of him. So, so afraid. She's afraid because he's hurt her before, hurt her like she's never been hurt before. She's afraid of him because he has the power to draw her in, to make her feel safe, and that makes her vulnerable. That makes it hurt just that much more when he turns his back on her. And he _will_ turn his back on her. Everyone does. Everyone leaves eventually. Booth…Booth taught her that.

She doesn't say anything because she can't. She doesn't want to lie to him, not anymore, but how can she ever open herself up to him? How can she ever open herself up to anyone?

Somehow, he knows anyway. "You're scared of me," he repeats, a lingering edge of surprise to his voice. "Why?"

Why? Because she doesn't want to be hurt anymore, that's why.

"I'm not scared of _you_," she mutters, looking away. There's a look in his eyes that tells her that he's not letting this go, so she stands abruptly, intending to escape to the kitchen. But the handcuffs jerk her back sharply.

"Where are you going?" Booth asks, an eyebrow raised.

"To get a drink," she answers shortly. "Am I allowed to do that?"

"I'll come with you," he says unnecessarily, standing too. They walk to the kitchen, Brennan shooting a pointed glare at the handcuffs between them. She reaches for a cup in the cabinets, and Booth doesn't bother hiding his smile when his cuffed arm holds her back.

"A little help here?" she grumbles.

"Anything for you, Bones," he answers sweetly, raising his hand so she can raise hers. She rolls her eyes and takes a cup down, shutting the cabinet.

"What, no drink for me?" he asks teasingly.

"If you want a drink, you can get it yourself," she retorts.

He frowns in mock-disapproval. "You're not a very good host, are you?"

"Well, you aren't a very good guest either," she returns, pulling him around to reach the refrigerator. She opens the door with her free hand and glances inside.

"One carton of orange juice," Booth observes, clearly unimpressed. "I'm not even going to ask what you eat."

"Sustenance," she answers vaguely. Grabbing the orange juice container, she manages to pour herself a glassful and returns the carton back to the refrigerator. Booth licks his lips half-longingly as she takes a long swallow, which sends a mean streak of satisfaction through her. Serves him right for barging into her apartment in the first place. Serves him right for handcuffing her and forcing her to talk. Serves him right for so many things.

She sets the half-full glass down on the counter and licks her lips. After a moment, she reaches for the glass again, but to her shock, Booth snatches it from her hand and lifts it to his lips.

"What are you doing?" she demands, too surprised to be angry.

"Drinking," he answers, cocking an eyebrow at her. "I haven't had a drink in hours, Bones. You don't want me passing out from dehydration, do you?"

"You wouldn't pass out—" she starts to protest, but he's already taken a huge swallow from the cup. She watches in silent surprise, then indignation as he drains the rest of the orange juice in three long swallows.

He sets the glass back down on the counter and smacks his lips loudly. "Thanks, Bones."

She scowls at him. "You force your way into my apartment, abuse your authority as a federal agent, and steal my drinks? I could have you arrested."

"But you wouldn't," he returns, an infuriating smirk upturning his lips. "For one thing, you'd never call the cops on me. For another…" His voice turns serious again. "For another, we haven't finished talking yet."

Damn. She'd been hoping to distract him.

With an irritable sigh, she turns and leans against the kitchen island. After a moment, Booth does the same, both of them looking toward the living room.

"So," he says into the silence.

"So," she echoes.

"You're mad at me."

She stares ahead evenly, resisting the urge to give him a deadpan look. "I think that's a given."

He winces. "And you're afraid of me."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Yes." He turns slightly to look at her, and she steadfastly refuses to meet his eyes. "You won't look at me, Bones. And when I even bring up the topic of what happened on Monday, you get this scared look in your eyes." When she opens her mouth to protest, he says firmly, "Don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. I read people practically as a living, Bones."

He stares at her expectantly, and she swallows hard. She can't lie, not now. Not with Booth giving her such a piercing look that she knows no amount of bluffing and pretending will make it past him.

"I'm not afraid of you," she answers truthfully.

His brow furrows. "Then…then what is it? What's scaring you, Bones?" At her silence, he takes her arm gently but firmly and turns her toward him. His gaze bores straight into her, and she can't break away.

"Tell me," he says softly, searching her eyes. "What scares you, Bones?"

The heat in his gaze loosens her tongue, and before she's even conscious of it, she's saying, "It's not you. It's what you can do. What you can do scares me."

"What I can do?" he repeats, clearly confused. "What can I do?"

What can he do? Anything. He's always been able to do anything to her.

"Hurt me," she whispers simply, tearing her eyes away from his.

At that, he releases her arms as if she's burned him, stepping back until the handcuffs hold him back.

"_Hurt you?"_ he echoes, sounding shell-shocked. "You think…you think I'd _hurt _you?"

"I think you already have," she answers quietly, staring at the ground.

"By leaving?" he asks, his confusion and anxiety apparent. "By breaking my promise to you?"

She closes her eyes. "Yes." But there's so much more to it. So much more.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

He says it like little words can fix everything, but this time, the thought doesn't count. Too many actions have washed away any intentions he might have had once.

"I'm sorry for kissing you too," he adds. "That was stupid of me. I'm sorry."

_The kiss, the kiss._ She manages a short, bitter laugh. "You don't get it, do you? The kiss was fine." More than fine. Amazing. Heady. Incredibly breathtaking.

He inhales slowly, deeply. "Then I was right. It was what I said, wasn't it? I'm sorry about that too. It was too soon."

_Soon?_ It was too _soon?_ Suddenly, she's irritated again. "Soon? It will always be too soon, Booth."

He glances over, clearly surprised at the sharp edge to her voice. "What do you mean by that?"

"Love as you define it is nothing more than a fantasy," she says bitingly. "Love is a combination of chemical reactions and physical lust as a result of an instinctual drive to procreate. It has nothing to do with feelings or emotions and everything to do with science."

"Everything to do with science?" he repeats incredulously. "Love is all about the heart!"

"What is love?" she shoots back, raising her eyes to challenge him. "Can you tell me what love is?"

His eyes narrow as he considers her question. "Love is when you can't stop thinking about someone. Love is when you care about someone so much more than you care about yourself. Love is when you'd do anything for someone without thinking twice."

"Love is irrational," she says, her voice hard.

"Irrational, yeah," he replies, the beginnings of anger tingeing his words too. "So what?"

"As a scientist, I don't believe in irrationalities. Everything is explainable, and anything without proof is mere conjecture."

"Proof?" His eyebrows shoot up. "Every day, Bones. There's proof _every day_, in our cases, with your dad, with Angela and Hodgins. There's almost too _much_ proof!"

"I know what I observe," she answers coldly. "Consider the facts, Booth: you told me you loved me and that from the moment you met me, you knew it was me. You said love like that lasted thirty, forty, fifty years. Well? It's been a little over a year, Booth. Things have changed, haven't they? How about when you met Hannah? Did you _know_ then too?"

Anger bursts to life in his eyes, and he snaps back, "I don't know if you remember, Bones, but _you_ were the one who told me to move on. _You_ told me you couldn't change."

And suddenly, she's furious. Furious at him, furious at his assumptions, furious at herself for even engaging in this conversation in the first place. But she can't stop anymore because he's broken every last wall that kept her silent.

"_I_ told you to move on?" she repeats angrily. "_I _told you? _You_ told _me_ you'd move on!"

"After you told me you couldn't change!" he retorts sharply. "You said you couldn't change, and you rejected me right there, without a second thought. Five _years_, Bones_. _Five goddamn years to find the courage to tell you what I'd known all along. And you took all of five seconds to toss it right back in my face like it hadn't taken all of my courage to tell you in the first place. And I'd been so damn _sure_ you'd give us a try."

"Just like I'd been so sure you'd come after me?" she demands, glaring at him.

"_You thought I'd come after you? _After what you'd said? You don't _believe_ in love!"

"Maybe I want to!" she shouts, furious and hurt and trying to rein it all in. "Maybe I want to believe in the same thing you do, Booth!"

"But you don't!" His voice is loud and harsh, but underneath, she can hear his hurt. His own wounded heart. "You don't! And you made it clear you never would!"

"Just like you made it clear that love doesn't exist, no matter how much I'd like to believe in it," she retorts bitterly. "Your love lasted all of the time it took you to recover. The next week, if I remember correctly, with that marine biologist. And you loved Hannah a couple of weeks ago too, and then on Monday, you loved me. So tell me, Booth—tell me how I'm supposed to believe you ever loved me at all."

"What do you want from me, Bones?" he snaps back, the look in his eyes dark and angry. "What the hell do you want from me? You want me to tell you that I love you? What good is that? You don't believe it! You want me to give you proof? Well, Bones, I've been throwing my proof in your face for seven years now, and you don't believe that either. No matter what I say, no matter what I do, it won't be enough, will it? So what the _hell_ do you want from me?"

"I want to be enough!" she shouts, pulling away from him so sharply the handcuffs cut into her wrist. "For once in my life, I want to be enough!"

He stares at her, anger still darkening his eyes. "Enough?"

"Enough for someone," she cries, all her fury and hurt swamping her at once and threatening to break her to pieces, if she isn't broken already. "Enough for _anyone!_ I want to be enough for someone to love _me! _Me as I am, socially awkward, oblivious, career-engrossed. I want to be enough so that for _once_ in my life, someone will stay!"

He looks as stricken as if she'd slapped him. Guilt shoots through her ever-so-briefly at that shocked look in his eyes. The words are out, though, and she can't stop anymore.

"I wanted to be enough for you," she continues, trying to hold onto that anger, but everything is slipping. She can feel a dreaded burning at the back of her throat as she pushes out all her hurt. "I wanted to be enough. You were so kind and caring, and you didn't want anything in return. I thought…I thought I would be enough then. I leaned on you for five years, and you never said a word. You held me up and helped me when I needed it, but you never asked for anything. And then you told me that night how you felt about me, and I got scared. I got _scared_, Booth. I told you I couldn't change, and afterwards, I thought you wouldn't care what I'd said. I thought you'd fight for me."

"I can't fight you, Bones," Booth says, his voice quiet. "I could never fight you. You said you couldn't change, and I accepted that."

"Why should I have to change?" she cries. "Am I not enough? Will I never be enough?" _Will they always, always leave me? _

And then, to her absolute horror, she's crying. Tears are running uncontrollably down her face, and she can't stop them, no matter how hard she swallows or squeezes her eyes shut. Horrified, embarrassed, ashamed, she wheels around on her heel so Booth won't see, jerking away as far as her handcuffed hand will let her. But he hears her, of course, and he stiffens in shock. She doesn't dare look at him, just glares at the wall through her tears, angry at herself for losing control like this. In front of _Booth_, no less.

"Bones," he says, his voice breaking. He takes her handcuffed wrist gently and pulls her toward him. Before she can protest, he wraps his warm arms around her, his breath mussing her hair. For a long moment, she stands awkwardly in his embrace, biting her lip to try to stop the tears, contemplating whether to shove him away or pull him closer.

"You're enough, Bones," he whispers fiercely. "God, you've always been enough."

_You've always been enough._

His words make her choke, and the sobs start afresh, harder and worse now. She loves him, she hates him, but she needs him. Above all, she needs him because he has the ability to hold her and make it all go away. So she clings to him and cries into his shoulder like she hasn't cried since her parents left, since Russ left, since she discovered her mother. She cries for everything that has happened, for Hannah, for herself, for lost opportunities. She cries, and Booth holds her like she's the most precious thing in the world. He's so warm and open, and the circles he rubs between her shoulder blades calm her down slightly, make the terrible burning in her throat ease. He doesn't say anything because there's nothing to say.

There will never be any words enough for this.


	13. The Prank of the Partners

**A fairly lighthearted follow-up to the last chapter. Hope you enjoy, as always. **

**Disclaimer: Bones is still not mine. Figures. **

* * *

**The Prank of the Partners**

She opens her eyes to a dark ceiling and just lies there for a moment, trying to orient herself. It's still dark, and she feels unusually groggy. Where is she? And why does her head hurt like she's gone through a concussion?

Slowly, painfully, she sits up. There's a crick in her neck, and she tries to work it out for a moment before looking around.

She's in her living room on the couch, a blanket from her room draped over her. She's confused as to how she got there until she turns to the left and finds Booth slumped in the armchair next to the couch, his shoes kicked off and his gun and badge on the coffee table. His eyes are shut, and he's snoring softly. Even in sleep, there are shadows under his eyes, and she feels a pang of guilt. He's obviously been worried about her; the twenty or more missed calls on her answering machine are testament enough to that.

Looking at him, she remembers what happened, and a quiet thrill shoots through her. They'd talked. It had all come out. There are no more secrets now. She had…she had broken and he had caught her. Like he always does.

Slowly, she throws off the blanket and swings her legs to the side of the couch, intending to head for the kitchen silently. But the moment she moves, Booth opens his eyes and yawns, blinking sleepily.

"You awake, Bones?" he asks blearily.

She stops and glances at him. "Yes. How did…What happened after?"

"You fell asleep," he says, stretching his arms with another yawn. "I put you on the couch and sat down for a little. I really didn't mean to stay, but I guess…" He shrugs drowsily. "Sorry."

"No," she answers softly. "I'm glad you stayed." And she is glad. Even if they've let all the words out, even if they've stopped building walls and hiding, there are still things to talk about. There are still so many issues they need to work out. This is far from over.

He manages a smile and peers at her, squinting slightly in the darkness. "You okay, Bones?" he asks, his voice soft.

_Okay?_ What does _okay_ mean? There are so many things she can say. Instinctively, she opens her mouth to say, "Yes, Booth, I'm fine," but it feels like a lie even before she says it. She hasn't lied to him all night, and she doesn't want to start now. She wants this type of honesty—this type of baring the soul and the heart which hurts but heals at the same time—to last forever.

"I'm not okay," she says finally, haltingly. "Not…not yet. But I will be." They've taken a step in the right direction. She just needs time now. They both do.

Booth nods understandingly, and a look into his eyes tells her that he truly _does_ understand. She hasn't let her feelings spill in so many years that it's exhausting to do so now. But it feels so good. She feels so much lighter, like a metaphorical weight has lifted off her shoulders. She has taken a step toward that light at the end of the tunnel. And the first step, she knows, is always the hardest.

"Okay," he says. "That's good. It's better than last night."

"Better," she agrees, nodding. She glances at his suit jacket, remembering the way her tears soaked it, and winces. "Sorry about…about crying all over you."

He smiles. "It's okay. It's better than okay. My shoulder's yours, Bones, whenever you need it." She's about to thank him for that when he grins and says, "It's better than you crying on some other guy's shoulder."

She laughs. It's incredible, really, the way he can make her laugh even when she's so tired and worn. That must be part of why she loves him, why she can't get enough of him.

That and his laugh. When he laughs too, her heart feels lighter than it has in weeks.

"What time is it?" he asks, yawning yet again.

She cranes her neck around to catch sight of the clock over her mantelpiece. "Five-thirty."

He groans and stretches his arms again. "I have to get going. I have to get home, shower, and get to the Hoover Building at seven-thirty for a meeting with Hacker."

He starts up and freezes midway, a grimace flashing across his face. He obviously tries to hide it, but it's too clear, even in the dark.

"Your back," she says in instant concern, hurrying to his side. "You shouldn't have slept in the chair."

He laughs shortly. "Well, I couldn't exactly invite myself to your queen-sized bed in there." With a groan, he straightens slightly and reaches for his badge and gun.

"Don't," she says. "Stay. You're in no condition to be driving, and if you drove back to your apartment now, you would have barely any time to prepare."

He hesitates for a moment before asking, "You're okay with that?"

She lets out a long sigh, then a smile. "Booth. I was…angry with you yesterday, but I think it's passed. At least, it doesn't feel so important now. I think the worst of it is over." The pain is out, the truth is uncovered. Booth said things she needed to hear, and now all that's left to do is heal and try, _try_, to get back to that place they had before Hannah, before Maluku.

He seems to be thinking along the same lines. With a slow, serious smile, he says, "Thank you, Bones. For opening up to me. I know that must have been hard on you, and I don't…I don't want you to think you owe anything to me anymore. I get it. I'll accept it. And I want to work to get our partnership back."

"I do too," she says sincerely, and a relieved smile spreads across his face. She smiles back because it feels good, to be on his side again. To not fight each other, or fate, but _for_ each other. It's been a long, long time since she felt like his partner, and to fit into that niche of his life again makes her feel _right_ for the first time since they returned to Washington.

"We did all right," Booth says softly, tucking his badge and gun away at his waist. He sounds contemplative, musing. "We did all right, didn't we? We made a mess of what we had, and it hurt both of us for a long time, but we came out all right on the other end."

She smiles. "Yes, we did." Not whole, not undamaged, but all right. Able to move beyond the past and onto the future. "The center always holds," she reminds him.

He grins in response to those words from long ago. "Yes, it does, doesn't it? I think the problem was we hadn't been the center for a long time. Now we're together again, and it…well, to me, it's right. Like we fell into some nightmare and just woke up."

She knows the feeling. With a quiet smile, she stands and moves toward the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Do you want me to get you something to eat?"

"Is it a nutrition bar or something?" Booth calls back, picking up his suit jacket and shaking it out. "Or do you have any real food back there?"

"Nutrition bars _are_ real food," she replies. "They're quite healthy for their calories, as opposed to your eggs and bacon."

He groans and loosens his tie further. "I'll just pick up something on the way to the Hoover. You mind if I use your shower?"

Poking her head in the nearly-empty refrigerator, she calls, "No, go ahead. Don't take all the hot water, though."

He chuckles, his voice muffled as he moves to the bathroom. "No problem."

The sound of water drowns out any other words he might have said, so she turns her attention back to the kitchen. He's right; she really does have little in her apartment that he would consider "real food." She considers feeding him some of her nutrition bars and quickly decides against it. After what he did for her the night before—hold her when all she could do was break, break, break—she wants to do what she can for him. So she slips on her coat and her boots, and tramps down the stairs of her apartment. Outside, across the street, there's a small breakfast diner with almost no one in it. She orders a generous heaping of eggs, toast, and bacon and piles it all into a takeout container. Tucking her free hand in her pocket, she crosses the street with the steaming carton in her other hand.

"Hey, Temperance!"

She pauses in front of her apartment building, glancing up automatically. At the sight of who called her, she groans and averts her gaze, wondering if it's too late to escape into the building. But he calls out to her again, and she has no choice but to stop, a wide, fake smile plastered across her face.

"Hey," he repeats, breathing out hard as he catches up to her. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"I've been busy," she returns evenly, hoping to head off any further attempts at conversation. "I'm actually heading home right now, so…"

"I'll walk you," he offers, smiling widely.

"I'd rather you didn't, Ben," she says, narrowing her eyes.

Ben laughs and holds up his hands. "Hey, we live in the same building. You can't say no to me."

"I can and I will," she replies through gritted teeth. "I don't understand you. I've told you again and again that I'm not interested and that I'll never be interested."

He winces, though she can tell he's not really hurt. That smile still on his face is testament enough to that. "Hey, that was harsh. I know I've been trying to ask you out for a while, but it doesn't mean I'm desperate. You're gorgeous, and…" An idea seems to hit him and he asks slyly, "…and you're playing hard to get, aren't you?" He misinterprets her silence for agreement and lets out a hoot. "So I was right! Will you go out with me this time? Tonight? I know this nice place a couple streets away—"

"No, I don't to," she says brusquely, annoyed. "I have refused you again and again, and I assure you, I'm not playing hard to get. I'm _not_ interested."

Ben grins widely, as if he hadn't heard her. That's what irritates her about him the most—the fact that he absolutely does not, as Booth would put it, "get the hint."

With a huff, she tries to push past him, but Ben keeps on her heels as she climbs the stairs to her building. He asks her a question, but she ignores him pointedly.

"You don't have to be so cold," he says, sounding injured. His expression belies the emotion in his voice though, and her irritation swells. "I'm nice to you, Tempe. I mean, I carry your stuff up the stairs, I walk you to your car when I can, I do anything you ask me to do…"

"That's the point," she growls. "I _don't_ ask you to do anything." Climbing the last couple of flights of stairs, she pauses at the top and turns. "Please stop bothering me."

He shakes his head, that infuriating cocky grin on his face. On Booth, the cocky grin looks right. On Ben, it makes her want to wipe it off his face with her fist.

_Booth._

Suddenly, she's struck with an idea. It's so juvenile and silly that she has to stifle a laugh. But it might work, and she knows Booth would have no problem with it. So, with a smile, she glances shyly at him and says, "Actually, Ben, I have to show you something. Will you wait in the hallway here for a moment?"

Triumph flares in his eyes, and his face splits into a wide grin. She feels almost bad for him in that moment—he seems to sincerely like her, after all—but remembering the weeks she's spent with him tailing her up and down the apartment building solidifies her resolve. With a wave, she opens the door to her apartment and closes it behind her.

Hurriedly, she lays the carton of breakfast down on her kitchen counter and rushes to the bathroom. Without thinking, she yanks open the door, his name on her lips.

"_Bones!"_ Booth yelps from the other side, snatching his dress shirt up from the bathroom counter and holding it in front of his body. "What the _hell?"_

Oh. In her hurry, she'd forgotten about his almost-humorous modesty. She's actually glad for his modesty this time, because even though she didn't see anything, she's already blushing at the thought of it. She's much more woman than scientist after last night, and it shows now. Quickly shutting the door again, she blocks the image of his body out of her mind and asks through the door, "Booth, would you do me a favor?"

"Sure, Bones—if you promise to quit doing things like that! I mean, I'm _naked_ in here!"

He sounds so exasperated it makes her smile. For a man who claims to be so sure about his sexual prowess, he can be surprisingly insecure. "Can you dress quickly, then?" she calls back. "I need to ask you something."

A moment later, he yanks open the door, his dress pants pulled on and his white dress shirt half-buttoned. "What?"

"Let me just explain quickly," she tells him, leading him to the living room. "For the past few weeks—actually, maybe for the last month and a half, a man in my apartment building has been propositioning me."

"_Propositioning you?"_ Booth echoes incredulously, his expression caught between outrage and shock. "As in—_sex?"_

She shakes her head, not bothering to hide a smile at his absolutely scandalized look. "He's been asking me on dates, and he's been quite persistent about it. I've told him that I'm not interested, but he doesn't seem to understand me."

Booth clenches his jaw. "One of _those_ guys." He glances at her and raises an eyebrow. "You want me to scare him off?"

She grins. "I was thinking…well, we haven't had fun together in a while."

_Fun. _The last time she can remember having fun with Booth was the aquarium, and everything went downhill after that. She figures they can definitely use a laugh after the exhausting events of the night before—she can, at least.

Apparently, Booth can too. The anger in his eyes lessens at her words and he glances at her in amusement. "Are you talking about setting him up for something?"

It sounds much more childish when he says it out loud. It sounds as if she's back in high school, preparing to exact her revenge on the popular quarterback who stuck rats in her locker.

It sounds like _fun_.

"He's outside," she says, grinning. "Could we…?"

He looks at her, at her wide smile, and laughs. "_Can_ we? What are you planning?"

"Maybe you could be my boyfriend?" she suggests, without thinking. And then she realizes what she's said—_boyfriend._ Suddenly, she's kicking herself—metaphorically, of course—for even bringing this up. The subject of love and commitment is so raw between them right now. They'd just let a river of emotions spew the night before, just found their way back to their tentative friendship, and she wants to introduce tension to it all over again? Is she just _stupid_ or what?

"Never mind," she says hastily. "I'll just tell him to leave."

Booth catches her wrist gently but firmly. "Bones…" He hesitates for a moment before saying, "You can tell me anything, you know. It isn't going to drive me away. I know…I know you aren't ready for anything more. You might not ever be ready. So I won't push you or anything, if that's what you're afraid of. And I won't be hurt by it either." He gives her a slightly-forced smile and says, "So, boyfriend?"

Of course he won't push her. He's always been so good—_too_ good—for her. Friends…it means they can do things like pretend and not feel uncomfortable about it. He's making it clear that he has no expectations for anything more. He'll take it all in stride, as much as she can. And that's exactly what she needs right now.

"Boyfriend," she repeats after a moment, smiling again. Suddenly bold, she unbuttons his shirt and strips it off him in a quick, economical motion. At his incredulous look, she says offhandedly, "I think it makes a more convincing image."

A few seconds pass before he laughs slowly, shaking his head in some kind of disbelief, and shrugs. "So what should I say?"

"You're good at being intimidating," she answers encouragingly, moving toward the door. Quickly, she pulls it open and finds Ben just on the other side, just as she expected.

"Temperance," he says warmly, his eyes bright. "I'm glad you've finally come around. What did you want to show me?"

She has to stifle her giggle; she hasn't felt this much like a high school girl in a long, long time. "Actually, Ben, I wanted you to meet someone." Turning, she opens her mouth to introduce Booth, only to find that he's gone. Her brow creasing in confusion, she glances back into her apartment. "Booth?"

Ben peers past her. "Is there someone in there?" His grin widens, and he says, "Aw, are you trying to make me jealous?"

Only he can be this irritating. Only him. Scowling, she snaps, "No, actually, my boyfriend is here."

"You don't have to play _that_ hard to get," Ben laughs. "You haven't been with anyone in all the weeks I've known you—you haven't even shown anyone else you're interested—and you expect me to believe you suddenly got a—"

"Temperance?"

Her name coming off of Booth's lips sends an incomprehensible thrill through her, along with an edge of confusion. Is he calling her by her real name to familiarize the situation? To prove to Ben that he knows her intimately? What perplexes her even more is the slight purr he ends her name with, the caress in his voice. Ben's eyes widen, and even she's startled. Has his voice _always_ been this…appealing?

"Temperance?" he repeats, coming up behind her. His hand grips the door above her head and pulls it open wider. "Who's this?"

Ben stares at him, and Brennan takes a moment to stare at him too. He's changed all of a sudden—no longer modest, quiet Booth but a man who obviously has no problem with showing off his body and no little amount of cockiness about it either. His hair, still wet from the shower, is tousled in a way that looks like he just toweled it. He's bare-chested like she left him, but now his pants clasps are undone too, leaving his dress pants hanging low on his hips in a way that leaves her dry-mouthed. Staring at him now, she understands for the first time why he can wear his Cocky belt buckle without any qualms whatsoever.

"Booth," she manages, her voice just a little uneven. Apparently he hears the slight waver, because the side of his lip turns up ever-so-slightly.

"Who are you?" Booth asks, leaning on the doorframe with his arm above her.

"Ben Jones," he answers slowly, still obviously disbelieving. "I live in the apartment just above Temperance's."

"Is that right?" Booth takes his time extending his hand. "I'm Seeley Booth, her boyfriend."

There's a way he says _boyfriend_ that sends a shiver through her. She ignores it for now, brushes it away to the recesses of her mind.

Ben shakes his hand slowly before breaking into a slow grin. "You aren't really her boyfriend, are you?"

Booth cocks an eyebrow, the look in his eye so arrogant that Brennan has to turn her face slightly to hide a smile. "What makes you say that?"

At Booth's non-answer, Ben's smile widens, and he continues more confidently. "Well, I've never seen you around. Temperance is _always_ alone. I figured she didn't have anyone, and I'm right, aren't I? I've seen her for months, and I've never seen you. So what did she do? Pay you? Ask you to pose as her boyfriend?"

Brennan winces, because that's exactly what she's done. But Booth's expression doesn't waver, but he does take on a bored look to his gaze, as if Ben isn't worth his time. She marvels at the way he seamlessly takes on a new character and personality. She's seen his abilities before when they've gone undercover, but it's different when it's not on the job. She doesn't know how, but it's different.

"I'm her boyfriend, buddy," Booth answers, yawning lazily. "You can believe what you want, but that's the truth."

"_This _is what you wanted to show me?" Ben asks her, sounding confused. "I thought…"

"I _told_ you I wasn't interested," Brennan replies firmly. "This is why. _He's_ why."

"I don't believe it." Ben shakes his head slowly, and Brennan suppresses a groan; will the man never get the hint?

Booth's eyes harden ever-so-slightly, and he says casually, "I don't have time for this; I'm already late. Did you see where I put my gun, Temperance?"

She's confused by his question until Ben's eyes fly open wide in shock, and then she understands. Of course. What better way to intimidate a man than to introduce a gun to the mix?

"Yes, I think you left it on the dresser," she says, equally offhandedly. "Next to your badge?"

There's a spark of amusement in Booth's eyes that warms her. He leans down and nudges her ear with his lips, whispering, "You catch on quick, Bones." And then, to complete the scene, he kisses her quickly on the forehead. It may look confident and casual, but she can feel his hesitation in the motion. His lips barely brush her skin before he pulls away. His smile is cocky, but his eyes are worried. She can see that it was an impulse to him, to kiss her like that. And, somehow, it doesn't make her heart ache to feel his lips against her skin, like it might have a day before. Somehow, it feels right.

She smiles wide to show him that it's all okay, and the relief floods his gaze before he turns and slips back into the apartment.

"G—gun?" Ben manages once Booth is gone.

Brennan allows herself a lazy, triumphant smile. "He's an FBI agent. And he's very possessive. You should stop bothering me. He uses his handcuffs very liberally."

"H—handcuffs?"

He must be in shock. Brennan can't help but smile in response, trying not to laugh aloud. Somehow, her voice comes out steadily. "Yes. I'm afraid he's quite aggressive as well." The writer in her takes Booth's "aggressiveness" and runs with it. "Last week in a bar, he broke a man's jaw for asking me for a dance too persistently."

Some of the shock leaks from his eyes. "You're lying. He couldn't have—"

Booth chooses that moment to reappear, his dress shirt buttoned up and his badge in hand. His gun is tucked in very visibly at his hip holster.

"Never mind, I don't have to go to work today," he says with a sigh, without even a glance at Ben.

She gives him a curious look. "Why not?"

"Remember that case I was telling you about yesterday?"

She remembers no such thing, but she nods anyway, wondering where he's going with this.

"Well, the guy I hit ended up in the hospital."

She raises an eyebrow, suppressing the smile that threatens to break across her face. "Bad?"

Booth shrugs. "Doctors aren't sure if he'll wake up. Jeez, guy can't take a hit? I didn't put him through the wall _that_ hard." He sighs in annoyance again and rubs a hand through his wet hair, continuing as if he doesn't see Ben's horrified expression. "So I've been suspended until further notice. Come on, it's not the first time I've knocked someone out."

"You poor thing," she manages. Any more words and she'll be doubled over in laughter at the look of pure aggressiveness in Booth's eyes and terror in Ben's. With a sigh of her own, she turns back to Ben and asks innocently, "So did you want anything else?"

He backs away slowly, shaking his head. "Nah, it's uh…it's okay."

"Are you sure?" Booth calls from over her shoulder. "We're having dinner tonight. Pizza. You want to join us?"

"Maybe some other time," Ben stammers.

"Hey, I might call you some time," Booth says as the other man backs away. "Some of the boys at the FBI and I like to go out for drinks. A pretty exclusive thing, but I could get you in. It's…" Booth winks and grin. "Well, let's just say it's always more exciting with a few drinks knocked back."

"It was nice meeting you," Ben blurts before he turns on his heel and practically flees around the corner. She and Booth exchange glances before bursting out into laughter.

"Oh God," Booth chuckles, leaning against the doorframe. "That was priceless. Did you see his face?"

"The last bit was a nice touch," she tells him, giggling like she hasn't giggled since graduate school. "You're quite intimidating when you try, Booth."

"You're not too bad yourself," he answers, raising an eyebrow at her. "You were stringing him on like a pro. I broke some guy's jaw?"

She shrugs. "I figured you would do something like that or something equally severe if someone had propositioned me in bar."

"Oh yeah," Booth says with a wide smile. "I would have put him through the wall so hard the doctors wouldn't be sure if he'd wake up."

And they fall into sniggers again, turning back to her apartment and shutting the door.

* * *

**Thoughts? :)**


	14. The Meal with Max

****

Thank you guys so much for helping me hit the 400 review mark. I'm so grateful for your continued support of this story.

**Disclaimer: Bones is not mine. **

* * *

**The Meal with Max**

"Something's changed."

Sweets glances up to find Angela in the doorway of his office for the second time in three weeks. He has no doubt as to what she's talking about now because he's seen it himself, and it's confused him to no end.

"Doctor Brennan and Booth?" he clarifies anyway, unnecessarily.

"Who else?" Angela harrumphs, crossing her arms. She seems to have bounced back from having a baby remarkably quickly. Without waiting for him to invite her, she shuts the door and flops down on the couch in front of his desk. "Well? Haven't they seemed…different?"

"I believe they've resolved something between themselves," Sweets answers. "They've been increasingly comfortable with each other, which means they've overcome whatever obstacle that threw off their dynamic in the first place."

Angela sighs and shakes her head. "I just can't understand it. I mean, a couple of weeks ago, I could have sworn Brennan was completely out of it. She just looked so…shaken. And now, it's like they've…I don't know, come to their senses or something. They're so normal together."

Sweets shrugs. "I think bringing Hannah in and taking her out of the picture played a huge role in their development. Booth and Brennan have been very single people from the moment they started their partnership."

"They dated some people," Angela corrects. "I remember."

"_Dated_, yes," he replies. "That's the key word. Dating to them—to Booth at least—is very different from fully committing to a relationship. Booth has a very clear picture of what love is, and he believed he had it with Hannah."

"_Believed_," Angela echoes. "Obviously, he wasn't in love with her, because he's always making goo-goo eyes at Bren when he thinks we don't notice."

Sweets nods. "Anyway, _because_ they were such solitary figures, the introduction of Hannah threw their partnership for a loop for a while." He shrugs. "Now that she's gone, they seem to have recovered their previous relationship."

"Recovered it," Angela says, her disapproval clear. "You mean they're just back to where they started. Great. It's been seven years, give or take, and they've gotten _nowhere._ Hodgins and I have gotten married. You've gotten together with Daisy. Cam has a _daughter_ now. And those two? Well, they might as well be statues." She huffs in frustration and sits back, her arms crossed. "Tell me it's okay I'm feeling this way."

Straightening, Sweets nods and grins. Finally, a problem dealing with them that he can solve. "Okay. You're Doctor Brennan's closest friend, and as such, you've had a front-seat view on their evolving relationship since the very beginning. You obviously care for Doctor Brennan, so it makes perfect sense that you're emotionally invested in her relationships. And since you've seen firsthand how Booth affects her—positively—you feel very strongly toward a romantic relationship involving the two of them."

"Which means it's perfectly fine that I'm about half a second away from locking them in a supply closet together until they admit that they're madly in love with each other?" she presses.

Sweets takes a look at her frustrated glare and figures she's actually prepared to do just that. He can't blame her really; God knows _he's_ wanted to do the exact same thing for a while, though he's backed off some after the abject failure of his book. Either way, he figures Brennan and Booth have a whole lot to learn about each other, and locking them in an enclosed space with no chance of retreat would do them a world of good. If only he weren't afraid of Booth shooting him in the face once they got out.

"Absolutely," he replies finally. "I think, given the circumstances, it's a valid train of thought."

Angela sighs and shakes her head. "What's it going to take to shove them in the right direction? It's been _seven years_, for crying out loud! They should be having…I don't know, baby Booths and baby squints right now, not…doing whatever they're doing!"

"I think their renewed normalcy is a good thing," Sweets points out. "I mean, they've been thrown into chaos for a little while with Hannah in the picture, and it's a good sign that their relationship has found its way back to the way it was."

"But _still_…" Angela groans.

"Look at it this way," Sweets says. "They need to get back to what they had before in order to move on. They can't leap straight from a strained friendship to a romantic relationship; they need to recover their dynamic, become good friends again, and resolve whatever issues remain unsolved between the two of them first, before they can really move on."

She groans again and shakes her head, flopping back against the couch. "They're hopeless. I'm getting gray hairs over them. Seriously. As if the baby isn't enough."

Sweets perks up, a smile curving his lips. "Speaking of which, how's Allison?"

"Perfect," Angela says, beaming. Then her smile slips into an exasperated frown and she adds, "Want to know who's _not_ fine? Hodgins. Seriously, he's wearing me out more than the baby is. The house is jam-packed with stuff for the baby, and every day, he comes home with more. It's like he thinks we're a storage facility or something! And he spends every waking moment fretting over the baby. Oh, she's going to stick her hand into a socket, she's going to fall into the pool and drown, she's going to fall down the stairs and break her neck…"

"All valid fears," Sweets interjects.

"Valid, yeah. You don't think I'm terrified of those things happening too?" Angela sighs heavily. "But Jack's already paranoid, and adding a baby to the mix makes it twice as bad. He's like another kid himself."

Sweets gives her a reassuring smile. "It's just a phase, Angela. All fathers go through it in the beginning. Ask Booth; I'm sure he'll tell you the same thing."

"Well, it'd better end soon," Angela moans, "because I'm _this_ close to locking him out of the house until Allison turns sixteen, which is definitely old enough to know not stick her fingers into electrical sockets."

"Well," Sweets says, trying to usher her out as politely as possible, "I actually have a patient coming in a couple of minutes, so would you mind…?"

She leaps to her feet quickly. "Is it that alien guy again? Because if it is, I'm totally out of here."

Sweets grins. "Maybe."

She shakes her head and heads for the door. "Thanks for the talk, Sweets. You know, you're more useful than Brennan gives you credit for." With that said, she disappears from his office, leaving him sitting alone behind his desk.

"That's what I always tell you guys," he mutters with a sigh, turning back to his paperwork.

* * *

Booth raps his knuckles on the doorframe of Bones' office at eleven-thirty, grinning when she looks up from her computer.

"Booth. What are you doing here?"

"I need a reason to visit my partner?" he asks, sauntering inside. He settles in the chair across from her desk and eyes her stacks of paperwork. "Are you really reviewing all that?"

"Yes." She pushes back from her computer and sighs. "I'm behind in my reports, and I'm going to have to work late tonight to make up for it." She gives him an apologetic glance and adds, "I'll have to cancel lunch today."

"Cancel?" he protests. "But I've been looking forward to this all day." And he really has. When she looks at him, he pouts as pitifully as he can manage until she cracks a smile.

"I really can't, Booth," she insists, though it sounds half-hearted at best. "I have so much to do."

"Do them later," he says. "Lunch takes an hour tops. We can go grab something at the diner and maybe take a walk afterwards. It isn't good to be cramped behind a desk all day, Bones. Didn't you tell me that?"

For a moment, she bites her lip in consideration, and he has to stare at the back of her computer to keep from fixating on the way her teeth pull at her kissable, kissable lips. Finally, she admits, "You have a point."

"Don't I always?" he teases. "Come on, just an hour."

At that moment, her phone rings, and he grabs it off the desk before she can. Flipping it open, he says casually, "Doctor Brennan's phone."

"Hi…this is April Collins?"

It sounds more like a question than a statement, but Booth recognizes the name. "Oh hey, April. It's Agent Booth from before, remember?"

Her voice flushes with relief and recognition. "Hi, Agent Booth. I was actually calling for Temperance Brennan…?"

"Yeah, she's here." Booth glances over in amusement to catch the indignation stamped all over Bones' face. She motions in annoyance for him to hand over the phone, but he sticks out his tongue at her and turns away again. "Did you want something?"

"Well, I wanted to thank her…"

"April Collins says thanks," he tells Bones, pulling the phone away from his ear.

Her brow furrows in confusion. "Who?"

"The girl you saved at the bar," he clarifies. "She says thanks for saving her life."

"Well, I didn't actually save her life. I'm not sure Fred Knowles would have gone so far as to kill—"

"Temperance says no problem," he tells April loudly. "Thanks for calling." He grins as Bones glares at him in irritation, and throws up a hand to ward her off as she tries to lunge across the desk for the phone.

"Is that all then?" April asks on the other end of the line. "She doesn't want to talk to me?"

"She's kind of busy," Booth answers, stifling a chuckle as Bones rounds the desk and reaches for the phone. He stands and backs away from her hands, rebuffing her attempts by stretching to his full height when she tries to snatch at his hand.

"Booth!" she hisses, almost pouting as he keeps out of reach. "That's _my_ phone!"

"If that's all…" he says to April, grinning widely as Bones huffs and plants her hands angrily on her hips.

"Yeah, thank you."

"Bye," Booth replies, hitting the button to end the call.

"I'd prefer that you didn't use my phone at your convenience," Bones puts in as soon as the call is over. "It's my phone and therefore my private property."

He ignores her, instead staring at the background on her phone. Slowly, a wide grin spreads across his face and he holds up the screen so she can see it. "Bones, you set this picture as your background?"

It's the photo she snapped at the aquarium with them sporting those ridiculous sea animal hats and mile-wide smiles. He'd almost forgotten about the picture entirely.

"It's a good picture," she mutters, looking flustered. "I thought it captured my eyes quite well."

He glances down and raises an eyebrow. "Yep, it got your eyes pretty well, all right. And my face. We're cute together, don't you think?" He shows her the picture again teasingly, and she glares at him.

"Give it back," she gripes. "I have work to do, Booth, and I need to make a few calls."

"You don't need to work at all," he answers, holding her phone high and out of reach. "We're going to lunch right now, and you're leaving all your files behind. Got it?"

"Booth—"

Her phone rings for the second time, cutting through her protest, and Booth lowers the phone just enough so he can see who's calling. One look at the name causes his smile to fade, and he thrusts the phone at her hurriedly.

"You take it," he says.

She takes one look at the name flashing on the screen and laughs. "_Dad_," she reads. "Are you afraid of my father, Booth?"

"No," he mutters. "It's just that we don't get along too well, that's all. I mean, whenever we run into each other, one of us always ends up with a black eye. Sometimes both us."

She grins and shakes her head at him before answering. "Hello?"

Booth can't make out their conversation since Bones' side mostly involves noncommittal yes or no answers. After a moment, he takes a slow walk around her office, glancing at her bookcases. Nope, nothing's changed about her reading habits. All the pictures on her desk are the same too, and he smiles to see the one with the two of them and Parker at the annual Jeffersonian Halloween party. How long ago was that? Two years? Three? And she still hasn't moved the picture or put it away. Some things don't change, he muses fondly.

His attention turns back to her when he hears his name on the tail-end of her sentence.

"Yes, I was just about to go to lunch with Booth." She listens for a moment before shooting a look at him, smugness filling her expression. He raises an eyebrow in confusion just as Bones says, "Yeah, Dad, why don't you join us?"

Booth lets out a loud groan and slaps his forehead with his palm. "Bones," he hisses, "do you _want_ us to kill each other?"

"In twenty minutes," she says, ignoring him. But the grin on her face widens. "Yeah, I'll see you. Bye, Dad."

When she ends the call, he groans again and gripes, "What made you say that, Bones? If you wanted to spend some quality time with your dad, you could've told me. I would've steered clear."

"You're very rarely frightened," she replies with that grin still spread wide across her face. "I admit, it's quite amusing when you are."

"Entertainment," he grumbles. "That's all I am?"

She ignores his question pointedly. "Well?" she asks cheerfully, collecting her coat and gloves. "Are we going to lunch or what?"

"Manipulative," he mutters, following her out of the office. As they leave the building, he tugs on his gloves and leads her to his SUV. After making sure she's seat-belted in securely, he pulls out of the parking lot and heads to the diner.

"So what did he want to talk to you about?" Booth asks when they're on the road.

"He's my father," she replies. "Does he need a reason to talk to me?"

Booth shrugs. "I don't know. It's just usually, he wants to talk to you about something."

"It's probably something about a Christmas party," Bones answers.

Booth shoots her a surprised look. "Christmas party? You're having one this year?"

She nods, a wide smile of excitement on her face. It isn't too often he sees that expression on her, and he can't help but stare at her out of the corner of his eye. When she glances back over at him, though, he averts his gaze hurriedly and coughs.

"We were thinking about it," she replies. "Although our family isn't large, it would still be quite festive to have a Christmas together. At least, I think it would; our last get-together was fun."

With a fond smile, he remembers the Christmas he and Parker drove out to the trailer and hooked up a Christmas tree to his SUV. He remembers well the smiles that lit up all their faces, but he remembers best the one that lit up Bones' face. The one that made him think of the girl she must have been once, innocent and beautiful, back when she must have believed a red-suited man would climb down her chimney and leave her all sorts of delights under the Christmas tree.

Grinning, he looks over at her and says, "Good for you. You should always spend holidays with some kind of family."

"I think you and Parker should come," she offers after a moment. She glances at him and adds hurriedly, "I mean, unless you're doing something with your family…"

He smiles happily at her, at her invitation. "Sure, Bones, I'd love to come. Can't say the same about Parker, though. He might be off skiing with Rebecca and Captain Fantastic." He rolls his eyes and feels a thrill of satisfaction when Bones laughs and calls him childish.

They pull up to the diner a few minutes later, and Bones smiles. "Look, his car is already here."

Booth suppresses another groan and pushes away the uncharacteristic nervousness that curls in his gut. He's never nervous because he's always been an outgoing, friendly type of guy. But there's something about Max that unsettles him, makes him unsure of himself. Maybe it's the fact that it's _Bones'_ dad, not just any other old guy. Maybe it's the fact that Booth wants to make a good impression, to be liked by Max. To be approved.

_It's like I'm prepping to marry her or something,_ he thinks with a snort. There's no need to get so worked up about it. It's only Max, after all.

"There's my girl," Max exclaims, holding out his arms for a hug once he spots Booth and Bones in the doorway of the diner. Bones gives him a quick hug and smiles.

"How have you been?" she asks, her eyes bright.

"Good, good." Max glances over at him, and he manages a pained smile.

"Hey, Max."

"Hey, kid." Max claps him hard on the shoulder and asks, "So how've you been?"

He forces a laugh. "Okay. You know, catching killers. The usual."

"Come on, sit down." Max ushers them quickly to a booth and takes a seat across from Bones, leaving Booth eyeing both sides. He's a bit wary of getting too close to Bones (his self-control is seriously in doubt, after all), but there's no way he's going to be spending lunch bumping elbows with Max. So, after a moment, he slides into the booth next to Bones and pretends not to notice when their knees touch.

"So, anything interesting happen lately?"

_Absolutely. I broke up with my girlfriend, kissed your daughter, and got the cold shoulder for almost a week. Then_ _Bones and I had a heart-to-heart, right before I made her bawl like a baby. After that, I spent the night at her house and posed as her half-naked boyfriend to scare off a potential stalker. _

"Normal cases, every day things," Booth answers offhandedly. "Nothing really important."

"I experienced Booth's handcuffs firsthand," Bones says, very matter-of-factly. Booth stares at her in growing horror as she adds, "He came to me a couple of nights ago and handcuffed me against my will. We spent the night together after that."

Max's eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets now, and Booth throws up a hand to forestall the punch he knows is coming. "Whoa, _whoa!_ That _definitely_ isn't what it sounds like."

Bones shoots him a confused look. "What? That's what happened."

"You make it sound like we—we had—" Booth splutters. At Bones' confused look, he averts his eyes, certain he's red hot with embarrassment, and chokes out, "You make it sound like we had _sex_ or something."

"That isn't what happened?" Max asks, his voice sounding carefully controlled.

Bones seems to have realized her mistake, thank God, and shakes her head hurriedly. "No, although I understand the misunderstanding."

"What happened?" Max asks, his eyebrows raised.

"We had a talk," Booth mutters.

The eyebrows raise higher. "One that involves handcuffs?"

Why did Bones ever bring this topic up? _Why? _"She wasn't too willing to talk," Booth sighs, staring over Max's shoulders to avoid his gaze. "We were going through…well, we had stuff we had to talk about."

Bones nods. "We just talked. There were several issues to resolve, and we managed to talk most of them through." She doesn't mention the part where he held her as she cried into his shoulder, and he's glad for that. It seems almost…private somehow. Something that should be between the two of them only, something to be shared not even with her father.

Max shrugs and narrows his eyes at Booth. "As long as nothing happened…"

"Nothing did," Booth assures him, though he's flushing at the mere thought of _anything_ happening between him and Bones.

The rest of the meal passes by quickly but a bit tensely on Booth's part. He mostly sits back and let Bones and her dad bond a bit, since they haven't seen each other in weeks. Every once in a while, her leg bumps up against his, and he scoots away slightly, not sure he can handle even the heat of her knee pressed against him. That's how sorry his self-control is, and he has to look away every time she licks her lips (is she doing that on _purpose?_) or takes a long swallow from her drink. God, he's like a teenager again. It's both a good feeling and a bad one. Mostly bad, though, because at the rate his thoughts and hormones are going, Max is going to give him a big, black shiny eye before lunch ends for kissing the hell out of Bones.

He shakes away those thoughts with some difficulty. Jeez, he's a grown adult, and he can't keep himself under control? Hasn't she made it infinitely clear that they're supposed to be _friends,_ nothing more? Maybe she can't handle anything more, and maybe he can't either. Maybe it's their fate, their destiny, to always be friends. They tried being more once, didn't they? At least he had, and she'd shot him down with barely a second look. It didn't work once, so why does he think it'll work this time?

They finish up their lunch with Bones promising to drop by Russ's house to arrange some sort of Christmas get-together. Booth picks up the tab as Bones walks ahead with her dad, and he can't help but smile at the way her eyes gleam. It's a spark that's been missing for too long now, a spark he's missed subconsciously. That night at her house when she let out all those words she'd kept in for too long seems to have put the life back in her, and he's glad he pushed her. She seems so much lighter now, like she used to be. He's glad to have played a part in putting that smile back on her face and in her eyes.

In the parking lot, Max pauses and turns, touching Bones lightly on the shoulder. "Go ahead, okay? I'm going to talk with Booth for a second."

Behind them, Booth groans inwardly and wonders what on earth Max has to talk with him in private about. He shoots a helpless look at Bones, but she grins, probably amusing herself with his fear of her father, and heads toward his SUV, leaving him and her father alone.

"So," Max says.

"So," Booth echoes, shoving his hands in his pockets. He waits for Max to get to the point, and he does, quickly and bluntly.

"You hurt her."

It's said very simply, a fact, not a question. Max's voice is hard enough to make him flinch.

He can't lie, not to Bones' dad. If there's any man that's owed the truth, it's Max. Patching up his relationship with Bones is one thing; making sure Max doesn't hate him or attempt to murder him is quite another, and possibly just as important.

"Yes," he says, equally simply. He doesn't wonder how Max knows; he just goes with it. "I did."

Max nods, taking in the information as calmly as Booth could have hoped. "I'm not going to ask you how. I'm just going to make sure you don't do it again."

"Make sure?" Booth repeats, a bit apprehensively. What does _that_ mean?

Max doesn't move, but he sighs and glances toward Bones, who's waiting by the SUV with a curious look in her eye as she watches them.

"She's been through a lot," Max says finally, quietly. "More than she should ever have had to. A lot of that was because of me, because I was a lousy father. I won't ever be able to fix that. But now that I've found her again, now that she _accepts_ me again, the least I could do is make absolutely certain she doesn't get hurt again, by anyone. That includes you, Booth. I don't care if you have a gun. I don't care if they'd arrest me if I assaulted you. I just know that if you ever hurt her, I'll make you regret it."

Booth swallows hard, not so much because he's afraid but because he knows how important this is. He knows how important it is that he say the right thing now.

"I hurt her," he says carefully, slowly. "I did. I'm not denying it. But I'm telling the truth when I say I had no idea I was hurting her at all. If I had…well, I would have fixed it. Like I told her, I would've made it right. The other night, like she said, we talked. We had a real conversation, probably the most honest conversation we've had in forever, and we worked through some things."

"And she's okay?" Max asks, seemingly unconvinced. "I'm not stupid, Booth. I saw her eyes today. She looked happy most of the time, but sometimes, when she looked at you, there was this look in her eyes…"

Booth sighs heavily and scuffs at the pavement with his shoe. "We worked a lot of things out. Not everything, but the important things. And she said she needed time."

Max nods slowly. "Okay."

He feels the sudden need to prove himself, to show that he's better than that one time, so he says, "I promise I won't again. I swear. The last thing I want to do is hurt her."

At this, Max gives him a knowing look and says, almost as matter-of-factly as Bones states case details, "You love her, don't you?"

He shoots Max a startled look for a second before remembering that this is _Bones' _dad he's talking to. The man probably knows more things about his and Bones' relationship than Booth suspects, given how absolutely protective of his daughter he is. So Booth sighs and admits, "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Max raises an eyebrow. "Are you telling the truth?"

Booth laughs shortly, softly. "You have no idea. You have no idea how much I love her."

"I'm not talking about partner, friend love—"

Booth smiles. "I'm not either."

"All right."

"Yeah."

Standing there, looking at Max in the eye, Booth withstands the scrutiny Bones' father gives him, forcing himself not to fidget. He knows Bones will probably never go for a romantic relationship with him. He knows he'll never make the first move again, and she probably won't take that step ever. But still, some part of him wants to be accepted by Max, to bear that stamp of approval. To know that he's good enough for Bones, and that Max knows it too.

"Okay," Max says finally, simply. And Booth relaxes, a relieved smile spreading across his face. He sees the look in the other man's eyes and knows he's been accepted. Even if Bones never loves him back, Max has found him good enough to love her, which is enough for him right now.

With a smile in return, Max gives him a light punch to the shoulder. "That's for hurting her, kid. I'm going easy on you because you put her back together again. I don't know what you did, but she seems better."

Booth smiles. "Thanks."

Max eyes him sternly and adds, "But if you hurt her again, you're going to get a hell of a lot worse than that."

Booth nods. "If I hurt her again, you can have my gun." He's smiling, but he's dead serious.

The two of them share a knowing look, and Booth feels a solidarity he has rarely felt toward Max before. He knows that here is a man who is willing to go just as far, probably even farther, than Booth will to keep Bones safe and happy. If nothing else, they will always be connected by their shared concern for a woman who means the world to them.

"So I'll see you later then," Max says, clapping Booth on the shoulder. "You should come over for our Christmas thing later."

"Yeah," Booth replies. "I might. We'll see." He raises a hand to wave as Max gets in his car and pulls away. Once the car has disappeared into the street, Booth heads over to the SUV and Bones.

"What did he want to talk about?" Bones asks curiously, climbing into the passenger seat.

"Nothing much," Booth answers with a smile. Turning the keys in the ignition, he says, "Come on. You ready to get back to work?"


	15. The Truth in the Chapters

**I'm so, so sorry for the delay. I expected to be able to write more over the holidays, but it was the exact opposite. Family reunions and a school project ate up all my time, but I finally managed to crank this chapter out. Anyway, happy belated holidays, and let's have an amazing 2011! **

**Disclaimer: Bones is not mine, and it will never be mine. **

* * *

**The Truth in the Chapters**

The knock on her door makes her smile, because there's only one person who'd be here this late. Setting down the files she'd been reviewing, she crosses over to the door and finds Booth on the other side, just as she'd expected.

"What are you doing here?" she asks anyway, smiling.

"I need an excuse to be here?" he returns, grinning back. He holds up a bag of Thai and says, "It's been too long since we kicked back with some good Thai and a movie."

Too long. Yes, it _has_ been too long. Warmth fills her at the familiarity of it all, and she opens the door wider to let him in. With a wide grin, he brushes past her and sets the bag of food on her coffee table before turning back.

"Don't lock the door," he says, catching the edge before she can close it completely. "I have a surprise for you."

A surprise? Brennan stares at him in confusion and says, "It isn't my birthday."

He laughs at her expression. "I know."

"And it's still a few weeks until Christmas."

He raises an eyebrow. "Gee, Bones, I hadn't noticed."

She frowns and folds her arms. "So what's the occasion?"

"You always think I need an occasion," he grumbles good-naturedly, brushing past her again and disappearing around the corner of the hallway. She stands there in bemusement for a few minutes before he returns, peeking his head around the corner like a child playing hide-and-seek. She doesn't bother stifling her wide smile.

"Illogically enough, I don't think you ever grew up, Booth."

He laughs, only his head and part of his upper body visible from where she's standing. "Bones, that's definitely the most illogical thing I've ever heard you say," he declares. "And that's the occasion."

Hiding his hands behind his body, he makes his way toward her, telling her, "Close your eyes, Bones."

She frowns at him. "This is childish."

"This is _fun_," he retorts. "I'm not coming any closer if you don't close your eyes."

"Well, you might as well stay there then, because—"

"_Bones_."

She harrumphs good-naturedly and rolls her eyes before closing them obediently. His footsteps draw closer until they stop just in front of her, and she cracks open her right eye for a split second. She can't catch sight of anything though because Booth scolds in exasperation, "_Eyes_, Bones!"

She shuts them again and says, "Can I look now?"

"Okay, quick, at the top of your head, what's your favorite name?"

"Booth," she says automatically, and then blushes. She can almost hear Booth pause in surprise, and she's suddenly glad her eyes are closed. At least she can't see his reaction to her probably noticeably pink cheeks.

"That might not work in this case," he says, a smile in his voice. "Another one."

"What am I naming?" she asks, confused. "It might help if I knew—"

He interrupts, obviously amused, "Nope, not going to work, Bones. Just give me a name."

Her mind leaps to Booth again, but she brushes away the thought quickly. She thinks for names—_Temperance, Max, Angela_—and can't decide on any of them. After a long moment, she blows out a breath in frustration and says, "I can't—"

"Oh good." He sounds happy that she can't come up with one. "Default name then—Jupiter."

And he shoves something warm and furry at her, and she has a sudden, sneaking suspicion as to what it is. Startled and just a bit worried, she opens her eyes quickly to find a small, white puppy in her arms, its warm brown eyes blinking innocently up at her.

"Booth…" she manages, not bothering to hide her shock.

"Look," he says, "after that incident with that guy—what's his name again?"

"Ben?" she guesses, wondering who he's talking about.

Booth nods. "Yeah, him. I figured you'd want some company."

"You mean protection," she corrects, raising an eyebrow. "You know, Booth, if you were afraid I couldn't protect myself, you could have simply gotten me a gun."

He barks a laugh. "Yeah, Bones, because I'm going to hand over a gun to you just like that. It isn't protection, really—this little guy isn't good for much yet—just company."

She glances back into her apartment and shakes her head. "Booth, do you know how many priceless artifacts I have? Not to mention the fact that my apartment policy might prohibit pets."

"Already checked," he answers, beaming. "They'll let you have pets as long as they're well-trained, and this guy is _completely_ trainable." Bending slightly, he scratches the puppy's white head and grins. "Isn't he adorable?"

"Well, yes, but I really can't have him breaking anything…"

Booth straightens with a sigh. "And I'm perfectly willing to keep him at my apartment if you _really_ can't take him."

Her eyes narrow at the all-too-innocent expression on his face. "Booth, was this all an excuse to get yourself a dog?"

He looks surprised for a second before bursting out into laughter. "When did you get so good at reading people, Bones?"

She rolls her eyes and pretends to scowl. "What kind of present is that? I feel slighted."

"Don't be," he says, grinning in that way that makes her want to give him anything he wants. "It'll be _our_ dog." At her continued frown, he adds, "Isn't he cute?"

"Don't try to distract me," she retorts, but her lips are pulling up in a traitorous smile too. It doesn't help that the puppy has begun to wriggle in her arms, its tongue curling upward to lick her chin.

"He's adorable!" Booth exclaims, laughing at the startled expression on her face. "You guys are perfect for each other."

"Well, come inside," she grumbles good-naturedly. "The Thai's getting cold."

She lets the puppy down, and it sets off at once to explore her apartment. Booth assures her that it's well-behaved, so she lets it go with just a twinge of anxiety. There are several priceless artifacts throughout her apartment that she would really rather not have the puppy endanger. The two of them settle in front of her TV with the cartons of steaming Thai on the coffee table, and Booth switches on a crime drama channel. She can't concentrate very well though, what with trying to keep an eye on the adventurous puppy.

"Relax, Bones," Booth says in exasperation when she's distracted for the third time. "If he breaks anything, I'll pay for it. Scout's honor."

"That doesn't reassure me," she answers. "You couldn't afford much with your salary."

He rolls his eyes and sighs. "Bones, you are _really_ good at bringing people down a notch, did you know that? When I need my ego deflated, I can just provoke you a little, and you'll rip me apart."

"I don't mean to insult you," she tells him, a bit uncertain. "I just state the facts." She wonders if he really is hurt by her words, if she should stop stating the obvious and let Booth preserve his pride.

He must see something in her expression because he knocks his shoulder against hers and grins. "Don't worry about it, Bones. It's a thing between us, okay? You keep me in line, I keep you from working yourself to death. Mutually beneficial relationship."

She grins back and leans against his shoulder contentedly, both of them turning back to the scene unfolding on the TV. She finds her mind wandering as the show progresses, focusing instead on Booth. It's been a while since they did this, and it feels like they've taken yet another step toward the easy thing they had before their year apart. They're finding their way back, slowly but surely. Thinking about it now, she realizes that her most prized memories, her best moments, have been here on a couch with him, filled with Thai, leaning against his shoulder, Booth's legs propped up on the coffee table with his mismatched socks just barely visible.

She glances surreptitiously at him, tracing the line of his straight nose and lips, admiring the way his smile is full of white teeth and lights up his dark eyes. Has he always been this attractive? she wonders. Yes, he has. She'll always be attracted to him. But has she ever had such a strong desire to kiss him? Has she ever noticed this acutely how warm he is, how the muscles in his arm flex as he throws it casually around her shoulders to bring her closer?

Has she always had such a strong rush of affectionate emotion as she looks at him?

"Bones? You okay?"

He turns slightly to give her a quizzical look, and she snaps her eyes back to the TV, embarrassed to be caught staring. She hasn't been this distracted by his looks since the first time they met.

"I'm fine," she mutters, reaching for her glass of water. Just as she touches it, Jupiter leaps playfully against the table in a sneak-attack, knocking over both her glass of water and Booth's can of Pepsi. She leaps back with a startled exclamation as both drinks spill into her lap before noisily dripping to the floor.

"Oh god," Booth groans, shooing Jupiter away with his hand as he moves to pick up the can and the glass. "I'm so sorry, Bones. Hang on, let me grab a towel or something."

He disappears into her kitchen for a moment before returning with a kitchen towel. They manage to wipe up most of the mess on the carpet, but her jeans are soaked through and her shirt is a lost cause. With a sigh, she pulls the front of her wet shirt away from her body and grimaces.

"Sorry," Booth repeats as he gently bats Jupiter away again when the puppy tries to stick his nose in the patch of soda and water on the ground.

"It's okay," Brennan answers. "It's just…do you mind if I take a shower?"

"Sure. Of course not." He eyes the wet towel and adds, "Let me just get this hung out to dry, and I'll get going. I'll take Jupiter with me."

She pauses. "Get going?"

"Yeah. Isn't it better if I go before this mutt gets into more trouble?"

"No," she says automatically. She doesn't want it to end, this familiar moment. She wants them to fall asleep on the couch together, her head on his shoulder and his breath mussing her hair. She doesn't want to be alone.

Shaking her head, she repeats, "No, you can stay. Don't you…" A glance at the TV gives her the excuse she needs, and she asks, "Don't you want to see who killed the girl?"

His gaze slides over to the TV too, and he laughs. "Sure. Yeah, I guess I do. I think I already know though." At the slight fall of her expression, he reassures her, "But I'll stay. If you want me to."

"Just let me take a quick shower," she replies, grinning. "And make sure you keep Jupiter out of my things."

Booth grabs the puppy's scruff and playfully ruffles his white ears. "Yeah, no problem there."

With a last grin, she turns and disappears into the bathroom.

* * *

He loves her. God, he loves her. Even with stains all down the front of her shirt, she's the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen in his life.

He leans down to ruffle Jupiter's ears, chuckling when the puppy sneezes. "You're such a bad boy," he growls, trying to sound stern, but it's hard when the puppy turns his dark soulful eyes on him. So he sighs, grabbing Jupiter and settling him in his lap.

"You're going to be trouble," Booth mutters. "I can already tell." He sighs again and absently ruffles the puppy's ears.

The muffled sound of a shower starting tosses his thoughts back in Bones' direction, and he grins down at the dog. "Isn't she the cutest thing you've ever seen? Huh? Doesn't she just make you want to kiss her?"

The thought of _anyone_ else kissing Bones, even the dog, makes him wrinkle his nose, and he shakes his head. "Never mind. But she sure is gorgeous, isn't she? I mean, those _jeans_…" He lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head. "Man, those legs of hers…"

Jupiter stares at him solemnly, and he gets the feeling the pup's listening carefully to every word. He instantly feels the need to clarify, so he adds, "It isn't all physical, though, if that's what you're thinking. She's just…amazing."

The puppy sneezes again, jerking his head in a nodding motion, and Booth laughs. "You agree, huh? Smart kid." He taps his fingers restlessly on the couch arm for a moment before shifting Jupiter off his lap and rising. It's been a while since he was at liberty to wander around Bones' apartment, and he realizes that it's changed, just a bit. The table she used to have in the hallway has been moved further in toward the living room, the pictures on the mantle have been shuffled around, and her bookshelf is messier than he remembers it. But it's still Bones. It still smells like her, feels like her. It smells like home to him.

He feels a twinge of disappointment to find that the picture of the two of them that used to be on the corner table is gone. Sure, he completely understands why she removed it, but it still makes him sad. So many things have changed, and every time, he wonders if they can ever get back to what they had.

After glancing back to make sure Jupiter isn't tipping over some priceless vase or something, Booth wanders back over to the bookcase and glances at the titles. They all look familiar and boring, the science of blah-and-blah researched by Doctor Blah educated at Harvard or Yale or Oxford. He's never been interested in those, no matter how many times Bones has tried to hook him in. He usually can't get past the first sentence without feeling like he's reading a dictionary or falling asleep.

Well, at least Bones' tastes haven't changed any. Booth hums slightly under his breath as he traces the bindings of the books with his fingers, reading the titles and making faces. He's just about to turn away when his fingers run over a stack of jagged pages.

Curious, he retraces backwards with his fingers and finds a thick stack of pages wedged in between a couple of books. They aren't bound together by covers, just held together at the top with a binder clip. Just printer paper with small-print words that already make his head hurt.

He pulls it out anyway, curious. The papers are slightly dusty, like Bones hasn't touched them in a while. Booth turns the first page and pauses in surprise.

It's Bones' book, or at least chapters of it. He remembers bringing her Thai and finding the first chapter on her desk at the Jeffersonian. She'd been embarrassed about it then, but why? Is there something…?

He's too curious to put it down. What is she embarrassed about? He skims past the dedication, smiling at her nod at their partnership, and flips to the first page of the chapter.

His smile fades after a moment, replaced by a frown. The date suggests that the chapter takes place before Andy and Kathy engage in a romantic relationship, which strengthens Booth's interest. He reads a couple of pages with a sudden, growing sense of déjà vu. It's a snippet of the characters' partnership when their feelings come to light, and everything is going to hell. The dialogue is familiar. Kathy rejects Andy, and Booth isn't surprised; he had a feeling it would happen. He reads on to find another scene where Andy finds a new girl—the girl of his dreams—in a bar after Kathy turns him down. The new girlfriend is beautiful and perfect, and Kathy is a whole whirlwind of hidden emotion, so many feelings that it almost makes him dizzy. The nagging sense that he's familiar with the story grows. But it's only when he finds the scene with Andy kissing Kathy in a darkened hallway as his girlfriend waits outside that he fully realizes the truth.

It's them. It's _their_ story. Everything that happened, everything that they felt…Bones wrote about it. He has always wondered how she keeps it in, all those feelings, and now he knows how: she doesn't. She lets them out on paper, whole and uncensored, _real._ Reading these papers, reading Kathy's feelings, he knows he's seeing deeper into Bones than he has ever seen her in real life. He has finally seen past the scientist, past the strong-walled woman, past all those defenses. He has seen _her._ The real her.

It feels like he's just woken up, just surfaced from a deep, dark place, and everything that has happened before Hannah and since Hannah is thrown into new light. Kathy was hurt and afraid, and Kathy is Bones. He feels like he's seeing her side of the story for the first time.

The shower stops, and a few minutes later, the bathroom door opens.

He sets the papers down on the coffee table and sits heavily on the sofa.

The truth this time. All of it.

* * *

In the shower, she thinks of anything she has that they can watch to spend the time. Movies? Most of her DVDs are documentaries of anthropological dig sites and other scientific subjects. Booth would probably be asleep before they got ten minutes into any of those films. But she doesn't have too many movies she thinks he'd be interested in. Maybe there would be something on TV? Or they can always watch something else; she thinks she might have some movies Booth left the last time he came over.

It doesn't matter anyway; when they're together, they always find something to do. So she hums a quiet tune under her breath as she turns off the shower and pulls a fresh towel from the rack. Slipping into a t-shirt and sweatpants, she makes sure to towel her hair thoroughly before opening the door and returning to the living room.

She doesn't register the change of mood right away. Instead, she makes sure Booth hung up the towel to dry and recycled the can of soda. She chucks her wet clothes in the laundry, checks to make sure everything is in place and that Jupiter hasn't torn up her apartment.

It's only when she returns to the living room, just about to sit back down next to Booth, that she realizes the light, comfortable mood is gone. Booth is sitting almost with the same posture as he had when she left him, but there's a line of tension in his shoulders that she recognizes all-too-well. His eyes are serious, which absolutely confounds her. What did she do? What on earth happened in the space of twenty minutes that sucked the frivolity out of the room?

Then her eyes, searching the room for anything out of place, fall on the coffee table, and everything is clear. A pit of bleakness settles in her stomach, and she reaches down slowly to touch the stack of faded papers.

"Your book," Booth says quietly. "Some of it at least."

Somehow she finds her voice. "A few chapters. They're…private."

_Private_ meaning she'd thought they were safe. _Private_ meaning she'd been sure no one would ever read them, meaning she'd written them on a whim, in a fit of emotion, and she'd never, ever in a million years intended to publish them. And she had _never_ intended for _Booth_ to read them.

"They were on your bookcase," he says. "I was curious."

_Curious?_ She feels a sudden surge of fury, fury so strong she wants to scream at him. _Curious?_ He was bored, waiting, so it meant he could pry into her things, things meant for no one's eyes but her own? He was _curious_, so he could take the most private things she'd ever written and _read_ them?

But can she blame him? Everything, anything she's ever had has always been open to him. She has never endeavored to hide something from him before, so he must be used to having access to anything of hers.

How wrong. How…awful.

She snatches up the stack of pages and clenches them tightly in her hands. "They're _private_."

"I'm sorry," Booth says. "I'm sorry. But, Bones, you can't pretend I didn't read them. _I _can't pretend I didn't read them."

"So?" So _forget_, she wants to tell him. _Forget everything, burn these pages because I wrote them when I was feeling stupid and lost, and why can't we just go back to how we were? Why does it have to be so hard? _But all she can do is grip those pages and pray, _pray_ he didn't read it all.

They stare at each other for a long moment before she manages, "How much? How much did you read?"

"Most of it," he says. "Bones…"

"Forget about it," she interrupts hurriedly, forcing herself to sound calm. "Can you just forget about it? It was just stupid stream-of-consciousness-type writing. It doesn't mean anything."

"You can't tell me that!" He's on his feet, looking half-torn between anger and confusion. "It has your real feelings all over it, I can tell. Everything in there is exactly what happened to us, Bones, _exactly_, except it's not Booth and Brennan, it's Andy and Kathy. What I said, what you said, what we _did_, it's in there."

She doesn't want to talk about it, because it'll pry open that box of emotions that she's been able to keep sealed for so many days now. "It's private," she insists. "You shouldn't have read it."

He stares stubbornly over at her. "But I did."

"Well, you _shouldn't_ have!" she answers heatedly. "It doesn't _mean_ anything!"

"I _should_ have," he retorts, his eyebrows drawing together in growing agitation. "I should have read that thing a _long_ time ago, Bones, because I never really knew how you felt all this time, did I? I just blundered around pretending everything was okay, but it wasn't, was it? Not to you."

_It's going to be okay,_ she thinks. _I'm always okay. Just stop this now before I break again. _

"I knew you were mad at me," Booth continues, "but I never knew exactly _why_. And I never knew…" He sucks in a breath, and his eyes soften. "I never knew how you felt about me."

It's _her_ turn to suck in a surprised breath, because hasn't he always been able to read her like a book? Hadn't he _understood_ her when she had cried to him about never being enough? Hadn't he always, always just _known?_

"Felt about you?" she repeats dumbly, staring at him.

Booth jabs a finger at the stack of pages in her arms. "You can't tell me you didn't have feelings for me at some time. Kathy in there…It was all from Kathy's point of view, and any idiot can tell that she loves Andy."

"They're characters," she manages lamely.

"Don't lie to me," he says sharply. "Don't you tell me that _you_ aren't Kathy, and _I'm_ not Andy; we got over that stage a long time ago. It's—it's too much to be coincidence. They did everything we did. You put your heart in there, Bones, and I know it."

"Impossible," she says obtusely, hoping to stall him with logic. "If I put my heart in there, I'd be dead." Just breathe and reason her way out of this. Just act oblivious, and she'll find some way to stop talking about this.

"Stop it!" He's truly angry now, his eyes dark and snapping. His fists are clenched, but he doesn't move towards her. She's glad for that, because she's almost intimidated by him as he is now.

"Stop it all, Bones," he snarls. "Stop everything you do, all those defenses and fake smiles and pretend _I don't know's_. I want to truth—no, I _know_ the truth now, so it isn't any use trying to pretend."

"What do you know?" she demands. Did he get from her chapters what she hopes he didn't? Does he know—

"You love me," he says, quieter now but still fierce. Fiercely believing.

It takes a moment for the words to fully register, and she stares at him, speechless. Yes, she wrote it in those secret chapters. Yes, anyone with half a brain could tell that Kathy loves Andy and make the connection to herself and Booth. But it sounds so…different when said out loud. It sounds so _real._

She loves him. She _loves _him.

_She loves him_. Does she? Can she love when she doesn't believe in the concept itself?

"You love me," he repeats, his voice firm with conviction. "Or you did once. You loved me, and I never knew."

"Never knew?" she asks faintly, still reeling from hearing those words, that foreign concept, spoken of out loud. "How…why did you tell me I was the one, then? Why did you take that chance if you weren't sure I felt the same way?"

"I thought, I suspected, I was almost a hundred percent sure," he says, catching her eyes and searching them. She wonders what he finds there. "I prayed, I dreamed, I took every sign you ever gave me and built up my case on your feelings toward me, but I never _knew._ How could I ever know for sure? You were always so closed off, and you hide your emotions like nobody's business, so how could I know?"

"But now…" She clears her throat and looks away, swallowing hard. "But now you do know."

He freezes like her words have punched him in the gut, clearly shocked. "Bones, you…you don't deny it?"

Isn't she done hiding from him? Hasn't she been done since she cried on his shoulder, since he held her when she needed it?

Can't she trust him enough to be finally, completely honest?

"No," she says quietly. "I don't." She sighs and turns away to avoid his eyes.

"You love me," he says again, his tone wondering this time. "You love me. _Me._" As if he can't believe that he would be her type.

"I had _feelings_ for you," she corrects stubbornly. "I don't believe in love."

He snorts. "Same thing."

She shakes her head. "No, it's not. I'm not like you, Booth. I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone, but I don't…_love_ you. I don't believe in love."

Guilt and regret flash across his face, and he sighs heavily, tucking his hands in his jeans. "No, you don't, do you?"

She looks at him in surprise; he never accepts it when she says things like that. He always argues, or tries to rationalize, or tries to prove it to her. But he never agrees.

"What?" she asks, confused.

He nods towards her chapters. "I told you, I read that, Bones. And I…see where you're coming from. Part of it, at least. I can see why you don't believe me about love and why you spooked when I told you I loved you. You're scared."

She makes to protest automatically, but the look in his eyes, sharp and knowing, forces those words back down her throat. She can't lie to him when he has that look in his eyes, that look that sees through any of her pretenses. "Yes," she admits simply. "I'm scared."

He moves towards her at last, his eyes soft again. How does he do that with his eyes, convey such a sense of safety and warmth that she can't help but want him? He stops in front of her and bends his knees slightly to catch her eyes.

"I won't hurt you," he says solemnly. "I swear. I'd never hurt you, Bones."

"Not purposefully," she mutters, glancing away. Not intentionally, but he hurts her without knowing because he's never _known_ her, the real her.

"I'd never hurt you." He moves to find her gaze again. "Don't you trust me, Bones?"

"Yes," she breathes. "Of course." He's closer now, too close. Too close for her to think rationally, to remember what's stopping her from just throwing all caution to the wind and pulling him down for a kiss. She has to clench her hands to keep from _wanting_ him.

And then he's kissing her. She's caught off guard, so startled she just stiffens against him unyieldingly. Her mind struggles to make sense of what's happening, but she's never been able to make sense of anything when his lips are on hers. He's a talented kisser, as talented as she's ever experienced, and when he runs his tongue along her still lips, her thoughts go blank. And she can't find a reason to stop him, if there was ever a reason at all.

Her hands find their way up his neck, up his face, to his hair, and he groans under his breath as her fingers tangle in his hair. His hands, on her waist, travel upward, up until he's cupping her face and kissing her dizzy. He's always warm, but when he's this close, he's like fire, burning hot, hot, hot and drawing her in until she catches fire too, and it seems like they'll never stop, because why should they?

She gasps as one of his hands grazes the bare skin of her stomach as her shirt pulls up, and he smiles against her lips.

"A little out of breath there, Bones?" he murmurs teasingly.

In response, she pulls his head down and crushes her lips against his, letting her tongue run tantalizingly along his lower lip and just grazing him with her teeth. His quick take of breath makes her smile widely and a bit smugly.

"A little out of breath there, Booth?"

He laughs lightly and runs his finger along her bottom lip. "Maybe I am." He gazes at her for a long moment and shakes his head. "God, you're gorgeous. How did you get this gorgeous?"

"Genetics," she breathes back, smiling, "and good nutrition as a child and adolescent."

He laughs again and dips to catch her lips again. This time, it's brief but just as sweet. Kisses with Booth are never dull, and now she definitely has enough experience to be able to make that assessment.

When he pulls away this time, his eyes are bright. "Bones, I know you don't believe in love, but—"

The mood, passionate and thoughtless, evaporates. Her logic, her reason, returns in an abrupt flood.

"No," she says, caught halfway between pleading and ordering. "Don't say it. Don't tell me that you love me." _Don't ruin it now._

"Why can't we try?" he asks softly, taking her right hand in his. "We have something, Bones. We always did."

She pulls away from him, wanting him to understand. "I can't," she says helplessly. "I can't. I'm not…I'm not like you, Booth. I can't _love_ you. I don't believe in it."

"I don't care," he says stubbornly. "Do you think I care? Isn't it enough that we're attracted to each other? Isn't it enough that we've been friends, partners, for years and years, and we trust each other enough to try for more?"

His question hangs there, suspended in the silence as they stare at each other, his gaze wide and pleading, and hers conflicted.

"I can't," she whispers. "You deserve better."

His eyes widen in disbelief, and he demands, "How could it get any better? Who could possibly be better?"

"Someone who can love you back," she tries, shaking her head. "Someone like you. You need someone like that."

To her surprise, he laughs breathlessly and reaches for her hand again. "Doesn't that mean you care, Bones? You care about me enough to think about stuff like that, what I deserve. Isn't it enough that you care about me too?"

She pauses, her brow furrowing. She cares about him, yes; that's never been a question. But an open heart…can she do that? Doesn't he deserve someone who has never been hurt before, someone who can give him everything without being afraid?

"I'm…scared," she says, holding one arm between them to keep him from pulling her closer. "What if I can never open up to you the way you want? You need someone with your kind of open heart." As much as it hurts to admit it, she isn't that kind of person.

"Screw my kind of open heart," he scoffs, brow furrowed in determination. "You said that last time, and I accepted it. But not this time, Bones. This time, let's talk about _your_ kind of open heart."

Surprise shoots through her, and she stares at him quizzically, wondering if they're talking about the same her. "I don't have an open heart."

"Not like mine," he agrees. "But you have one too. You're one of the best people I know, Bones. You care about your friends, you care about the victims in cases, and you're always thinking about everyone but yourself. You're incredible, Bones. Why can't you see that?"

Can she do that? Can she open herself up totally, without holding anything back, and trust that he won't break her?

But it's never been a question of trust, has it? She's always trusted him. It's a matter of fear. It's a matter of risk. The real question is: is he worth the risk?

He's strong. He's intelligent in his own way. He's perceptive and kind and courageous. He has always, always looked out for her, even when she hadn't wanted him to, and he has always leant her his shoulder when she needed it. He's saved her on more times than she can remember, he's helped her when she asked for it, and he's made her feel so, so special, like no man has ever made her feel before.

So is he worth it? Is she ready enough, strong enough, to try?

Yes. Overwhelmingly _yes. _

"Let's do it," she says, squeezing his fingers. "Yes."

He doesn't respond instantly. Instead, he stares at her blankly, like her words don't make sense to him.

"Yes?" he repeats dumbly. Slowly, realization dawns in his eyes, and shock flies across his face. "_Yes?"_

"Yes," she says, a wide smile breaking across her face. She feels incredulous, elated, surprised. How has she never been able to say this before? When it was always so easy? _"_Yes. _Yes."_

He still stares at her uncomprehendingly, so she lets out a laugh—quiet, light—and pulls him in for a kiss.

It's better than before. She doesn't know how, but it is. It's short but sweet, and they can't hold it because suddenly they're laughing. They're laughing and laughing and laughing, and they can't stop. He leans his forehead on hers as they chuckle breathlessly, their ribs hurting, their chests heaving. Laughing at everything and nothing at all.

"Finally," he breathes, staring into her eyes, laughing still.

"Finally," she agrees, holding his gaze, holding those warm eyes with that look that has always been for her, even when she didn't know it yet.

"Hear me out, Bones," he says, holding her arms like he's afraid she'll bolt. "I know you don't believe in love. I know I'm part of what made you believe that. But it's real. This is the one time I know something you don't, so hear me out. You don't believe in it now, but will you give me the chance to prove it to you? Because if you give me the chance, Bones…" He swallows, glancing away for a split second before meeting her eyes again. "If you give me the chance, I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

_The rest of my life._ He's making a commitment to her, one with no real end in sight. This is usually the point she runs. This is the point where she says that's illogical and walls herself up, because she doesn't want to hear those irrational promises that will never be kept. But somehow, she's not afraid this time. This time, she's ready.

"Okay," she says simply, and he breaks out into the widest smile she's ever seen from him.

"Thank you," he says, kissing her again.

"No," she answers, kissing him back. "Thank _you_." How can she ever thank him enough, for staying when he should have left, for believing in her when she couldn't even believe in herself? For fighting for them even when he was fighting her?

"I love you," he says, squeezing her fingers.

And she smiles. 


	16. The Start of Something New

**Thank you for all your continued support. Reviews are always appreciated. **

**Disclaimer: Bones is the property of Fox.  
**

* * *

**The Start of Something New**

He wakes up with a god-awful crick in his neck, a cramp in his leg, and feeling absolutely on top of the world. What can possibly be better than dreaming about Bones in his arms and then waking up to just that? He can't even remember how many times, how many countless mornings, he's woken up to a cold bed and only faint memories of a dream-Bones. The real thing just about blows his mind.

He only gets to watch her for a few precious seconds before she stirs too and opens her eyes sleepily. When she notices him, her eyes fly open in shock, and he takes the moment to freeze that expression on her face in his mind so he remember it and laugh later.

"You okay, Bones?" he asks in amusement, raising an eyebrow at her.

She has her arms up between them, and she just stares at him for a long few seconds. Then her eyes dart down to her body, and she lifts the covers ever-so-slightly, shifting so he can't see.

He chuckles at how absolutely adorable she is when she's confused. "All your clothes are still in place," he tells her, rolling out from under the covers so she can see he's fully-clothed too. "We didn't do anything."

She clutches the bed-sheets with wide eyes. "Booth…you…did we…_what happened?_"

"Don't tell me short-term memory loss is common in people our age," he teases, reaching forward to muss her already-messy hair. "I'll be pretty upset if you don't remember anything from last night."

His tone is light, but inside, he's just a bit afraid. What he's scared of is Bones backing out, Bones thinking up some convoluted, reasonable theory that makes no sense to him but effectively logics her way out of their newly-found relationship, Bones running. _Again._

She wouldn't do that to him…would she?

Then slowly, slowly, realization spreads across her face, and the confusion and near-horror washes away. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and flashes her the wide smile he saves for her eyes only.

"Remember now?" he asks cheerily, grinning at her.

She answers him by pulling him in for a long, savory kiss, and he decides right then and there that he wants to be woken up like this every morning for the foreseeable future. It'd definitely lower his stress levels and stop him from taking his frustrations and stress out on the firing range every so often. Who needs to fire a gun when kissing Bones has a thousand times the allure and sparks?

Her eyes are bright when she breaks away, and she laughs softly. "I feel like I'm dreaming."

He pretends to think for a moment before shaking his head. "Nope. Dream-Bones has nothing on the real you."

At that, her eyebrow twitches upwards in amusement, and she asks, "You dreamed about me?"

"Every night," he growls, rolling so he's on top of her. "You have no idea."

She stares back up at him and replies promptly, "You feature prominently in my fantasies too," and then proceeds to lick her lips ever-so-slowly like she has _no_ idea what she does to him—completely false, judging by the teasing light in her too-innocent gaze.

He groans and rolls off of her. "Don't do that. We'll never get out of bed."

"We technically never did anything in it," Bones points out. "Seven years—isn't it past time?"

"Past time we did what?" he teases, trying for some of the pretend-obliviousness Bones excels at.

Before he's fully aware of her moving, she flips over so she's leaning on his chest, her eyes mischievous as she touches his lips with her fingers. "Past time we finished what we started when we first met."

It's tempting. Oh, _so_ tempting. They're in bed together, finally, both more than willing participants, not drunk or impaired by medication, with no case to speak of, no new bones coming in to the Jeffersonian as far as he knows…

Oh, what the hell. He can take a sick day, and so can she. She probably has all seven years' worth of those stored up anyway.

He pulls her into a kiss, pushing the hem of her shirt up to trail his fingers across the smooth, smooth skin of her bare waist. She groans into his mouth as he licks her bottom lip, and her own hands tangle in his hair, pulling them closer together.

He retracts for barely half a second, just to be sure they aren't making a mistake. One word from her—_yes_—and it'll be full speed ahead. "You sure you want to—"

"Yes," she breathes, kissing him again, hungrily this time. How long have they needed this? So many, many years. It feels like he's tasting oxygen for the first time after being submerged for so long. He presses her into the pillows and helps her lift up his shirt, tossing it over his shoulder and—

Something sharp sinks into his ankle, and he lets out an absolutely undignified yelp, jerking back from Bones. Both of them stare at each other for a startled moment before glancing down at his feet to find a disgruntled white puppy gnawing on his right leg.

Well, _that_ just completely destroys the mood. Bones bursts out into loud laughter, and he sits up, prying Jupiter's teeth off his leg.

"These are my favorite socks," he complains, fingering the small but noticeable puncture marks the puppy's teeth tore. "What a damn troublemaker."

Laughing again as he glares at the puppy, Bones surmises quickly, "He must be hungry."

"No kidding," Booth grumbles, sticking his finger through one of the holes. "I just _knew_ he was going to be trouble. Why did we shut him in here with us again?"

Pulling her shirt down and rolling out of bed (which makes him groan and wonder when he'll _ever_ get anywhere with her), Bones pads to the door and opens it. "So he wouldn't get into any of my expensive belongings," she reminds him, watching carefully as the puppy scampers out of the room. "Come on, we have to supervise him."

"Should have never bought him," Booth complains as he pulls on his shirt and follows her into the kitchen. Bones casts around for a minute in search of dog food before he remembers abruptly that he has a bag of it in his trunk.

"I'll run and get it," he tells her.

With a harrumph and knowing look at Jupiter, she nods and crosses her arms. "I should probably stay and make sure he doesn't break my antique vase from Uruk."

Booth chuckles and rolls his eyes. "And make sure he doesn't knock over the TV. That would be a real shame."

"And breaking my vases isn't?" she calls after him, and he just shakes his head and steps out with a wide smile on his face.

By the time he collects the twenty-pound bag of dog food from his SUV and returns to Bones' apartment, the smile is still plastered across his expression, and he can't stop. He even hums under his breath as he lets himself back into Bones' apartment; he's feeling better than he's ever felt in his entire life. Amazing how something as little as a few words can turn his world upside down. Amazing how he _loves_ it upside down.

"You took your time," Bones comments as he finds her still in the kitchen.

He cocks an eyebrow at her, taking in just how adorable she is seated cross-legged on the ground feeding Jupiter chunks of a granola bar. Two wrappers already litter the floor, and the puppy snuffles them for a second before lunging for Bones again, his tail wagging furiously.

"And you two seem to be bonding pretty well," he returns, dropping the bag of food to the ground. "Are you feeding him granola bars? Gross."

She glances at him, obviously hiding her amusement under a thin veil of irritation. "How many times do I have to tell you, Booth? My granola bars are a great deal healthier than your usual diet. I don't complain about your pie, do I?"

He snorts. "Yeah, you do. You also complain about my fries, burgers, and the occasional ice cream sundae. Although I don't know why you complain about how greasy my fries are when you steal them anyway."

She frowns. "That's different."

He laughs and moves to sit next to her. "Of course it is." Jupiter leaps up and slobbers all over their faces, and Bones pushes his snout away with a laugh.

"You have an awesome laugh," he tells her, feeling a rush of elation at being able to speak his thoughts out loud. "I love your laugh." He's loved it since the first time he heard it, low and full, lighting up her eyes in a way that makes his blood rush.

Her cheeks flush, which makes him grin widely and continue, "You look gorgeous when you blush. Never got the chance to tell you that, but now…" He slips his hand into hers and relishes the feeling when she curls her fingers around his own.

"You have a very even, white smile," she replies. He's about to snort and ask her what kind of compliment that is when she adds, "I always liked the way you smiled. As illogical as it sounds, it softens your eyes." She glances away and clears her throat self-consciously. "It makes me feel special."

He laughs lowly, affectionately, and throws his arm around her shoulders. "Of course it makes you feel special; the smile's for you. And anyway, _you're_ the one making _me_ feel special, Bones. Honestly, I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"You have desirable genes for mating," she answers, in that teasingly logical way she has, "which makes it easy to see why I'm attracted to you."

Oh. Is _that_ all? He rolls his eyes and says, "That makes me feel great, Bones. You want me for my genes."

She flushes again—adorably _again_—and mutters, "Well, it's more than that."

He's about to speak again—to ask her what sort of stuff _more_—when his phone rings. He cranes his neck to catch sight of his jacket slung on the back of the couch and groans.

"You could leave it," Bones suggests, her fingers tightening infinitesimally around his.

He hesitates for a moment, because that's certainly a tempting thought. Almost too tempting. He wants nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with Bones, even if it's on the kitchen floor feeding granola bars to an already-spoiled puppy. But what if it's a murder? What if it's some serial killer that could've been caught if he hadn't been lazing around with Bones?

As tempting as it is, duty always comes first.

"Sorry," he says apologetically, reluctantly releasing her hand.

"I get it," she answers, and he knows she does. Padding over to his jacket, he fishes out his phone and answers it.

Yep, it's a body found, but it doesn't seem too urgent. Hacker is a bit peeved since his calls have been reaching voicemail, and Booth realizes sheepishly that he has three missed calls, probably all collected while he and Bones were having a nice nap in her bed. Hacker's already contacted the Jeffersonian, though, so things are moving along. Cam already headed out to see the body since it was still fully-fleshed, and the remains are in transit to the Jeffersonian. There's not much they can do until the body arrives and the squints ascertain if it's murder or not. Booth figures he and Bones can take their time arriving.

"A case?" Bones asks as he hangs up.

He nods. "Yep, body found in a Dumpster downtown. They already sent it to the Jeffersonian, though, and it'll take an hour. So…"

She arches an eyebrow in a way he finds absolutely drool-worthy. "So…?"

He flashes her his charm smile and picks up his coat. "Want to stop for some breakfast?"

Pushing Jupiter away gently, she rises and laughs. "Why are you even bothering to ask? Of course."

* * *

Brennan's late. And she is _never_ late.

Sure, Angela figures she's overreacting _again_, but it's all for a reason. One of these times, Bren will be late because she really _has_ been kidnapped, and Angela will be _so_ glad she's being hyper-vigilant about her friend. Better safe than sorry.

She calls Cam first, just to see if Bren called in sick. Nope, no word from the resident anthropologist. She calls Booth next, because those two are practically joined at the hip, or they should be. Granted, it's been a weird few months, but the FBI agent and anthropologist duo seem to be getting their mojo back. So it seems logical that Booth would be with Brennan, wherever they are.

She tries not to sound too worried as Booth picks up. "Booth? Is Bren with you?"

She can hear him shifting, and he replies, "Why? Is she not at the Jeffersonian?"

Damn those pregnancy hormones, making her feel irrationally panicked. Even _after_ having the baby, she still feels like her emotions are running on steroids.

"She isn't here," Angela answers as evenly as she can manage, pacing the length of her office. "No one's heard from her. Booth, what if she got abducted? What if she—"

"Relax, Angela," he interrupts with a laugh. "I'm messing with you. She's right here."

The panic turns into fury at breakneck speed. She'd probably get a Guinness world record for that.

"Seeley _Booth_," she growls, "don't you ever, _ever_ do that to me! When I see you, I am going to wring your hot, FBI neck until there's nothing left but blood and dust—no, just dust—"

Another laugh on his part. "That sounds painful."

It takes her a moment to realize that the voice came from behind her, and she whips around to find both parts of the dynamic duo in the doorway of her office, Booth holding his phone to his ear. He snaps it shut and grins cheerily at her. "Hey, Angela."

"Jerk," she mutters. Slipping her phone in her pocket, she arches her eyebrow and crosses her arms. "So where have you two been? It's almost lunchtime, which means you're…what? Three, four hours late?"

Booth gives Bren a smile, and Angela's eyebrow twitches higher. He's giving her _that_ smile, the one always said, _I love you, you blind idiot_. The one he's never given Brennan directly to her face so…obviously.

"We were busy," Brennan answers vaguely. She shoots Booth a knowing look, and Angela's curiosity level ratchets up a notch.

"Doing what?" she asks skeptically, giving them a bland look.

Booth's face splits nearly in half with one of the widest, happiest grins she's ever seen from him, and he replies, his voice laden with laughter, "Oh, you know, work stuff: feeding the dog, having breakfast at the diner, talking, dropping the dog off at my place…and other stuff." His smile turns enigmatic.

She stares at him. "Wait, wait, wait—_what_ dog? And _what_ other stuff?"

Booth shoots her an _I am so glad you asked_ look and says with a blinding grin, "Stuff like this."

And he spins Brennan around, dips her down low, and plants a hot, _hot_ kiss on her.

Angela's jaw hits the ground. Her eyes fly open wide, and she can't do anything but stare dumbly at the sight. She's pretty sure she's not even breathing.

By the time Booth ends the kiss (and he takes his time about it, too) and the two of them straighten, Angela's still standing as still as if she'd been nailed to the ground. Her eyes flicker over to her best friend, then to Booth, then back again to Brennan.

"That did not just…" she stammers weakly. "Did that just…? What just _happened?_"

Bren, her face flushed, laughs breathlessly and answers, "I thought you'd be happy about it. You've been wanting us to engage in a romantic relationship almost since Booth and I had our first case. Well, technically, it was our second case." She's obviously having a hard time keeping anything but a mile-wide smile plastered to her face.

"Yeah, thought you'd be happy," Booth chimes in, reaching down to clasp Brennan's hand. "I kissed Bones for your benefit, you know, Ange."

"_My _benefit?" she repeats, still in shock. "Okay, so…what's going on you guys?" A thought strikes her, and she breaks out in her own wry smile, planting a hand on her hip. "This is a joke, right? Oh, you guys make me _so_ mad. Yeah, I admit it, you got me. Where are the cameras?"

Brennan gives her a very bewildered look, and Booth laughs aloud. "This is even better than I thought it'd be, Bones! If everyone else reacts like this, I'll bust a gut laughing."

"You can't rupture your stomach laughing, Booth," Brennan answers. "It's physiologically impossible."

Booth chuckles again and shakes his head before glancing back at Angela. He takes in the expression on her face—which is still shocked, still dryly amused, and just a tiny bit wondering if this is true—and grins widely. "She thinks we're lying."

"I don't see how," Brennan replies. "Everyone's always convinced we're in an intimate relationship, and when we're finally in one, they don't believe us. It's illogical."

"It's hysterical," Booth chortles. He digs his phone out of his pocket and angles it at the artist. "Hold that expression right there, Angela, I've got to get this."

The quiet click of the camera on his phone snaps her out of her daze, and she manages to string a few words together. "So…what's—what's going on?"

Bren glances up at Booth and smiles before looking back. "Well, Booth and I have decided to give a romantic relationship a try. It seemed like the right thing to do; everything we've done seems to be heading in this direction anyway."

"All roads lead to love," Booth says teasingly, tucking his phone away. He gives Brennan his patented look of affection and swings their held hands.

Angela shakes her head disbelievingly. No…no, they can't be together. It's too weird to think about. Even though she's been rooting for them none-too-subtly for years upon years, she's never actually thought of them getting together. She's thought all about it up to the point where they realize they're madly in love with each other, but she's never imagined…beyond. After. All this time, all these years of waiting and pushing, and…and it's happened? She doesn't have to push anymore?

She can't believe it.

"You guys are kidding me," she says with a laugh. "You can stop joking now since you've had your fun. And don't play something like that on me again, because—" She cuts off abruptly as a realization strikes her like a ton of bricks, and her jaw hits the ground for the second time.

Booth grins at her wide eyes and stage-whispers to Brennan, "I think she figured it out."

"Why are you whispering?" Brennan asks, her brow furrowing.

"You're wearing the same clothes you did yesterday," Angela breathes, her voice almost accusing. "The same red tie, the same dress shirt…" Her eyes dart down to his legs. "The same crazy socks. You never wear the same socks two days in a row. Unless…Holy _crap_, you never went home. _You never went home_. You were with Bren, and that means…You were telling the _truth? _You're telling the truth? You guys are _together?_"

"As together as together can be," Booth replies, beaming. "Knew you'd get there eventually."

"Oh my _god!"_ Angela squeals, excitement and elation shooting through her. She leaps forward and grabs Brennan's free hand, a smile stretching her face so wide it hurts. "Oh my _god_, I thought this day would never come! Hallelujah!"

Both of them laugh and nod as she gushes over their newfound relationship. She seems almost more excited than Brennan herself, although Angela has known her for way, way too long—there's no way she could possibly miss the constant smile on the anthropologist's face, the way her blue eyes glow with a light Angela's never seen before. And she knows Bren's _happy_. Truly happy in a way Angela has always wished for her best friend.

"Wait until everyone hears about this," Angela enthuses, her eyes sparkling. She hasn't felt this alive in a long while. "This is _so_ exciting! How did it happen? Where? When? _Details,_ sweetie! I want to know _everything!"_

"It happened at Bones' apartment," Booth supplies.

"He got me a dog," Brennan adds. "It's cute."

"You're telling me the whole dog story later," Angela tells her, "but right now, I want to know how this—_you _two—happened. Don't leave out a second!"

"Well, Booth came over with some Thai," Brennan says. "He told me not to close the door because he had a surprise for me. He was gone for about…three minutes, I think? He came back with his hands behind his back, and told me to choose a name. Then he put the puppy in my hands—"

"Skip the dog part," Angela says in exasperation. "I want to hear about you guys! Did you sleep together?"

They exchange a look, and Angela nearly combusts with excitement. "You _did!"_

Booth shakes his head. "Technically, no."

"We slept in the same bed," Brennan explains, "but we didn't have sex. There was kissing and some intimate touching, and I know he wanted to do more because I could feel his—"

"Oh _god_," Booth groans, slapping his hands to his ears. "This is the part I get the hell out of here before Bones goes into detail about everything. I'm going to check on how the body transport's doing and get back to you guys later." He leans over to kiss Brennan quickly on the lips before waving to Angela and heading out.

"That's an image I can get used to," Angela says with a dreamy sigh, watching the FBI agent disappear from her office. "Him kissing you goodbye like that. You two are _so_ sweet."

Brennan laughs and answers, "I admit, I can get used to it too." 


End file.
